THE  ETHEL  CARR  PEACOCK 

MEMORIAL  COLLECTION 

Matris  amori  monumentum 


TRINITY  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 


DURHAM,  N.  C. 

1903 

Gift  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Dred  Peacock 


~h  b  L  S 


tiie 


World's  Famous  Women: 

i« 

A 

SERIES  OF  SKETCHES 


OF 

Women  who  have  Won  Distinction  by  tiieir  Genius  and 
Achievements  as  Authors,  Artists,  Actors,  Rulers, 

OR  WITHIN  THE  PRECINCTS  OF  HOME. 


BY  JAMES  BARTON, 

AUTHOR  OF 

“LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN,”  “LIFE  OF  THOMAS  JEFFER¬ 
SON,”  “LIFE  OF  VOLTAIRE,”  “GENERAL  BUTLER  IN  NEAV  ORLEANS,” 
“LIFE  OF  AARON  BURR,”  “PEOPLE’S  BOOK  OF  BIOGRA¬ 
PHY,”  “  LIFE  OF  ANDREW  JACKSON,”  ETC. 


A 


ILLUSTRATED. 


1  5  1  9H- 

NEW  YORK 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY 

150  Worth  Street,  corner  Mission  Place 


Copyright,  1890,  by  Hubbard  Brothers. 


9  2  0.-} 

P  ^  7  <+? 
P 
C^-  I 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PACK 

Joan  of  Arc  (Steel) . Frontispiece. 

Charlotte  Cushman  ^  .  16 

Maria  Mitchell . 29 

Adelaide  Phillips . 52 

Lady  Franklin  . . 113 

Harriet  Martineau  . . 192 

Betsey  Patterson . .  .  .  219 

Toru  Dutt  and  Sister . 241 

George  Sand  . . 257 

§ 


2  i'  7  9  'f 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2018  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


https://archive.org/details/worldsfamouswome01part 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


T 

J  J 

CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 

Born  a  tomboy — Her  early  life  in  Boston — A  great  mimic — Her 
first  play — Coriolanus  and  Macready — Birth  of  her  talent — 

Her  father’s  bankruptcy — She  sings  in  opera — Failure  of  her 
voice — Plays  Lady  Macbeth — Her  arduous  toils — Member  of 
the  Park  Company — Her  acting  of  Goneril — She  appears  in 
London — A  mutton  chop  a  day — Dazzling  success — Return 
home — During  the  war — Her  patriotism  and  generosity — Her 
death . 17 


II. 

MARIA  MITCHELL. 

The  Mitchells  in  Nantucket — Maria’s  education — In  the  Nan¬ 
tucket  library — Her  first  telescope — She  discovers  a  comet — 
Tour  of  Europe — Professor  at  Vassar — Her  dome  parties — Her 
liberal  opinions . 28 


III. 

MRS.  TROLLOPE. 

Cincinnati  in  1827 — The  Trollope  family  there — Her  impres¬ 
sions  of  slavery — An  evening  party  in  Cincinnati — Her  dis¬ 
like  of  America — The  fourth  of  July — Her  impressions  of 
New  T ork — Her  remarks  upon  Church  going — Anthony 
Trollope — His  method  of  working — Mrs.  Trollope’s  last  years.  38 


12 


CONTENTS. 


IV. 

ADELAIDE  PHILLIPS. 

Born  at  Stratford-on-Avon — Removal  to  Boston — Her  first 
appearance  on  the  stage — A  child  actress — Anecdote  of 
"Warren — She  sings  before  Jenny  Lind — Studies  in  Italy — 

Her  debut — Her  career  in  opera — Her  death  and  burial.  .  53 


V. 

TWO  QUEENS.  THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  JAMES  n  OF 
ENGLAND. 

The  Countess  of  Bentinct’s  letter-chest — Why  James  the  Second 
turned  Catholic — The  Princess  Mary  argues  with  him — Wil¬ 
liam  of  Orange  sails  for  England — His  parting  with  Mary — 

Her  life  during  his  absence — Crowned  Queen  of  England — 
Queen  Anne’s  sorrowful  life — Death  of  Queen  Mary.  .  .  60 

VI. 

AN  EVENING  WITH  RACHEL. 

Her  training  for  the  stage — Alfred  de  Musset — He  reports  the 
supper — The  brass  platters — She  describes  her  housekeeping 
— Tastes  of  absinthe — She  makes  punch — Cooks  the  beef¬ 
steak — Her  love  of  Racine — Resolves  to  play  Phedre — Her 
brutal  father. . 

VII. . 

JOSEPHINE  AND  BONAPARTE. 

Their  coronation  impending — Opposition  of  the  Bonaparte  fam¬ 
ily — Scene  at  court — Josephine  jealous — Noble  conduct  of 
her  sob,  Eugene — The  coronation  rehearsed. 

VIII. 

LADY  MORGAN. 

Her  parents  and  childhood — Her  father’s  romantic  marriage— 
Early  writings — Her  father’s  bankruptcy — Goes  as  governess 
— Anecdote — Interview  with  a  publisher — Her  first  novel — 

The  Wild  Irish  Girl — Her  marriage — Residence  in  Paris — 
Visit  to  Lafayette — Her  last  years.  .....  83 


68 


78 


CONTENTS. 


18 


IX. 

MARIA  THERESA. 

Her  father  the  Emperor — Frederick  of  Prussia  seizes  her  Prof, 
ince — Yields  Silesia  to  the  conqueror — Interval  of  peace — 

The  seven  years’  war — Her  complaisance  to  Pompadour — 
Frederick's  invasion  of  Saxony — She  abolishes  torture — 
Frederick’s  tribute  to  her.  . . .  105 

X. . 

LADY  FRANKLIN. 

Sir  John  Franklin’s  first  wife — He  marries  Jane  Griffin — Her 
life  in  Van  Diemen’s  land — His  last  Arctic  expedition — Not 
heard  from — She  assists  in  the  search — Her  address  to  the 
President  of  the  United  States — The  liberality  of  Henry 
Grinnell — Lieutenant  de  Haven — The  “Prince  Albert” — Sir 
Edward  Belcher’s  attempt — Discovery  of  relics  by  Dr.  Rae — 
Lady  Franklin’s  appeal  to  Lord.  Palmerston — Captain  M’Clin- 
tock’s  expedition — Her  letter  to  him — The  final  success.  .  112 

XI. 

MADAME  DE  MIRAMION. 

Her  early  life — Her  extreme  piety — Death  of  her  father — Her 
wonderful  beauty — Her  marriage — Death  of  her  husband — 

— The  young  widow  carried  off— Devotes  her  life  to  charity.  125 

XII. 

PEG  O’NEAL. 

The  O’Neal  Tavern  iu  Washington — General  Jackson  and  his 
wife  inmates — Peg’s  childhood — She  marries  Purser  Timber- 
lake — Death  of  her  husband — Marries  Senator  Eaton — The 
great  scandal — General  Jackson  defends  her — Martin  Van 
Buren  calls  upon  her — Efforts  of  the  British  and  Russian 
ministers — The  Russian  ball — The  English  dinner — General 
Jackson’s  gratitude  to  Van  Buren — Mrs.  Eaton’s  later  years.  .  131 

XIII. 

MRS.  L.  M.  MONMOUTH,  AND  HOW  SHE  LIVED  ON 
FORTY  DOLLARS  A  YEAR. 

From  affluence  to  poverty — Advice  of  her  neighbors — The  strug¬ 
gle  for  independence — Her  clothing— A  cheap  dressing-gown 
V. 


14 


CONTEXTS. 


— Her  shoes — Her  food — Her  house  a  shew — Balzac’s  extrava¬ 
gance — Sir  Walter  Scott  ruined  by  his  house.  .  .  .  138 

XIY. 

TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC,  COMMONLY  CALLED  JOAN 

OF  ARC. 

Rome  refuses  to  canonize  the  Maid — Manuscript  reports  of  her 
trial — Her  native  village — France  in  1428 — A  divided  allegi¬ 
ance — The  Maid’s  real  name — Her  character  in  childhood — 

Her  youth — Effect  of  Catholic  habits — Her  commanding 
presence — Her  voices — A  revival  of  religion  in  the  French 
army — Politicians — Her  brilliant  career — Her  capture — 
Attempt  to  escape — In  chains  at  Rouen  Castle — The  court 
convened — The  prisoner  examined — She  relates  her  early  life 
Her  firmness — The  public  sermon — She  recants — Sentenced 
to  perpetual  imprisonment — Again  in  chains — Resumes  her 
man’s  dress — She  revokes  her  recantation — Burned  at  the 
stake.  1-18 

XV. 

HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 

Her  philanthropic  severity — Anecdote  of  Sydney  Smith — Her 
sorrowful  childhood — Her  education — Begins  to  write — Dis¬ 
covery  of  her  secret — In  the  United  States — Attends  a  meet¬ 
ing  of  abolitionists — Her  speech — Odium  resulting — Her 
religious  opinions — Florence  Nightingale  upon  her  death.  .  193 

XVI. 

THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 

Mysterious  power  of  rank — Prince  of  Wales  in  New  York — 
Lafayette  among  the  Six  Nations — Revisits  them  in  1784— 

The  treaty  of  Fort  Schuyler — Anecdote  of  Red  Jacket — Ori¬ 
gin  of  Lafayette’s  republicanism — Stationed  at  Metz — Dines 
with  the  Duke  of  Gloucester — The  news  from  America — 
Determines  to  join  the  insurgents — Ancestry  of  Madame  de 
Lafayette — Their  marriage — He  sets  sail — Their  correspond¬ 
ence — He  describes  his  wound — He  returns  to  France — Bril¬ 
liancy  of  their  position  at  court — The  French  Revolution — 
Madame  escapes  the  guillotine — Intercedes  for  her  husband 
with  the  Emperor  of  Austria — Shares  his  imprisonment — Her 
premature  death — Her  descendants . 204 


CONTENTS. 


15 


XVII. 

BETSY  PATTERSON,  OTHERWISE  MADAME  JEROME 
BONAPARTE  OF  BALTIMORE. 

Career  of  her  father — The  richest  man  in  the  United  States — 
Jerome  Bonaparte  in  Baltimore — Her  father  opposes  her  mar¬ 
riage — Consents  at  last — Napoleon  refuses  to  recognize  her — 

Her  return  to  Baltimore — She  despises  her  country — Letter 
to  Lady  Morgan — Betsy  reproved  by  her  father — His  will — 
Close  of  her  life . 219 


XVIII. 

SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

Their  rage  for  gambling — Anecdote  of  the  two  black  aces — The 
woman’s  club  of  London — Their  sense  of  decency — Our  sum¬ 
mer  hotels — Modern  chivalry — Anecdote  of  Lekain — Society 
in  the  colonies — A  Connecticut  village — The  tyranny  of 
fashion — Fashion  in  ancient  times — Lord  Palmerston’s  big 
boots . 228 

XIX. 

TORU  DUTT. 

Her  genius  discovered  by  Mr.  Gosse — Her  translations  from  the 
French — Toru  and  Aru  in  Calcutta — Toru’s  description  of 
her  garden — Her  residence  in  Europe — Their  return  to 
India — Her  first  writings — Death  of  Aru — Publication  of  the 
Sheaf  Gleaned  in  French  Fields — Correspondence  with 
Mile.  Bader — Specimens  of  her  poetry — Her  novel — Our 
Casuarina  Tree . 240 


XX. 

GEORGE  SAND. 

Her  ancestors — Her  grandmother — Childhood  of  George  Sand 
— Her  peculiar  education — Convent  life — Her  religious  belief 
— An  accomplished  young  lady — Marries  Dudevant — An  ill- 
starred  union — She  removes  to  Paris — Her  first  writings — 
Success  of  Indiana — Other  works — Alfred  de  Musset — Her 
political  principles — Her  closing  years — Her  works.  .  .  256 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMATT. 


WAS  born  a  tomboy,”  wrote  Miss  Cushman  once. 


1  By  tomboy  she  meant  that  she  was  a  girl  who  pre* 
ferred  boys’  plays,  and  had  boy’s  faults.  She  did  not  care 
much  to  sew  upon  dolls’  clothes,  but  could  make  dolls’ 
furniture  very  nicely  with  tools.  She  was  fend  of  climb¬ 


ing  trees,  and  it  was  a  custom  with  her  in  childhood  to 


get  out  of  the  way  of  trouble  by  climbing  to  the  top  of  a 
tall  tree.  In  short,  she  was  a  vigorous,  strong-limbed, 
courageous  girl,  who  might  have  been  the  mother  of  heroes 
if  it  had  not  been  her  fortune  to  be  a  heroine  herself. 

In  1816,  when  she  was  born,  her  father  was  a  West 
India  merchant,  of  the  firm  of  Topliff  &  Cushman,  who 
had  a  warehouse  on  Long  Wharf  in  Boston.  Her  father, 
at  the  age  of  thirteen,  was  a  poor  orphan  in  Plymouth, 
M  issachusetts,  though  a  lineal  descendant  of  Robert 
Cushman,  one  of  the  pilgrim  fathers;  a  descendant,  too, 
of  other  Cushmans,  whose  honored  graves  I  have  seen 
upon  Burial  Hill,  in  Plymouth.  Her  father  walked  to 
Boston  (thirty  miles  distant)  while  he  was  still  a  boy,  and 
there,  by  industry  and  good  conduct,  saved  a  capital  upon 
which  he  entered  into  business  upon  his  own  account, 
which  enabled  him  for  man  /  years  to  maintain  his  family 
ia  comfort.  Many  a  time  Charlotte  played  the  tomboy  on 
Long  Wharf,  in  and  out  of  her  father’s  store,  climbing 
about  vessels,  and  getting  up  on  heaps  of  merchandise. 
Once,  in  jumping  on  board  a  vessel,  she  fell  into  the  water, 
and  was  only  rescued  from  drowning  by  a  passer-by,  who 


2 


18 


CIIARLOTTU  CUSHMAN. 


sprang  in  and  helped  her  out.  Her  deliverer  kept  on  his 
way,  and  she  never  knew  who  he  was  until,  many  years 
later,  when  she  was  a  celebrated  actress,  a  respectable  old 
gentleman  called  upon  her  and  told  her  that  he  was  the 
person,  and  how  honored  and  delighted  he  was  in  having 
been  the  means  of  preserving  so  valuable  a  life. 

Two  things  may  be  said  of  all  true  artists.  One  is, 
that  the  germ  of  their  talent  can  be  discovered  in  one  or 
more  of  their  ancestors.  Another  is,  that  their  gift  mani¬ 
fests  itself  in  very  early  childhood.  More  than  one  of 
her  ancestors  had  wonderful  powers  of  mimicry,  as  well 
as  well  as  a  happy  talent  for  reading  and  declamation. 
One  of  her  grandmothers  possessed  these  gifts.  While 
she  was  still  a  little  girl  Charlotte  had  a  remarkable  power 
of  mimicry.  Besides  catching  up  a  time  after  once  hear¬ 
ing  it,  she  unconsciously  imitated  the  tones,  gestures,  and 
expression  of  people  she  met;  and  this  talent  she  pre¬ 
served  to  the  end  of  her  life,  greatly  to  the  amusement  of 
her  friends.  She  was  one  of  those  people  who  can  imitate 
the  drawing  of  a  cork,  and  give  a  lively  representation 
with  the  mouth,  of  a  hen  chased  about  a  barn-yard,  and 
being  finally  caught.  She  could  imitate  all  brogues  and 
all  kinds  of  voices. 

Born  in  Puritanic  Boston,  we  should  scarcely  expect  to 
find  such  a  talent  as  this  nourished  and  cultivated  from 
her  youth  up.  But  so  it  was.  From  her  mother  she 
learned  to  sing  all  the  songs  of  the  day,  and  she  learned 
to  sing  them  with  taste  and  expression.  In  those  days 
almost  every  one  sang  a  song  or  two,  and  a  most  delight¬ 
ful  accomplishment  it  is.  If  ever  I  should  found  an 
academy  I  would  have  in  it  a  teacher  of  song-singing. 
Miss  Cushman  was  so  lucky,  too,  as  to  have  a  good  uncle 
— a  sea  captain — who  used  to  take  her  to  places  of  amuse¬ 
ment,  and  with  him  she  saw  her  first  play,  Coriolanus, 
with  Macready  in  the  principal  part.  She  saw  many  of 


CHARLOTTE  CUSIIMAN. 


19 


tie  noted  actors  and  actresses  of  that  time,  and  the  more 
frequently  because  her  uncle  was  one  of  the  stockholders 
of  the  old  Tremont  theatre.  Through  him,  too,  she 
became  acquainted  with  some  of  the  performers,  and  thus 
obtained  a  little  insight  into  the  world  behind  the  curtain. 

Everything  seems  to  nourish  a  marked  talent  in  a  child. 
One  day  at  school,  in  the  reading  class,  it  came  her  turn 
to  read  a  speech  from  Payne’s  tragedy  of  Brutus.  Before 
that  day  she  had  been  bashful  about  reading  aloud  in 
school,  and  had  shown  no  ability  in  it  whatever.  When 
she  began  to  read  this  speech  her  tongue  seemed  to  be 
suddenly  unloosed  ;  she  let  out  all  the  power  of  her  voice  ; 
and  she  read  with  so  much  effect  that  the  teacher  told 
her  to  go  to  the  head  of  the  class.  Miss  Cushman  always 
assigned  the  birth  of  her  talent  to  the  moment  of  her 
reading  the  passage  from  Brutus.  The  talent  was  in  her 
before,  but  the  glow  of  that  speech  warmed  it  into  sudden 
development. 

After  the  war  of  1812,  commerce,  from  various  causes, 
declined  in  Boston ;  large  numbers  of  merchants  with¬ 
drew  their  capital  from  the  sea,  and  invested  it  in  manu¬ 
factures.  Miss  Cushman’s  father  was  one  of  those  who 
did  not  take  this  course,  and  when  she  was  thirteen  years 
of  age  he  failed,  and  she  was  obliged  to  think  of  prepar¬ 
ing  to  earn  her  own  livelihood.  Charlotte’s  gift  for  music 
suggested  the  scheme  of  her  becoming  a  music-teacher, 
and  to  this  end  she  studied  hard  for  two  years  under  a 
very  good  master.  When  she  was  about  sixteen  years  of 
age  the  famous  Mrs.  Wood  came  to  Boston  to  pei'form  in 
concert  and  opera,  and  while  there  inquired  for  a  con¬ 
tralto  voice  to  accompany  her  in  some  duets.  Miss  Cush¬ 
man’s  name  was  mentioned  to  her,  and  this  led  to  a  trial 
of  the  young  gfrl’s  voice.  Mrs.  Wood  was  astonished 
and  delighted  at  it,  and  told  her  that,  with  such  a  voice 
properly  cultivated,  a  brilliant  career  was  assured  to  her. 


20 


CHAKLOTTE  CUSHMAN’. 


After  singing  with  Mrs.  Wood  in  concerts  with  encourag¬ 
ing  success,  Miss  Cushman  appeared  at  Boston  as  the 
Countess  in  Mozart’s  Marriage  of  Figaro.  Received  by 
the  public  in  this  and  other  parts  with  favor,  she  seemed 
destined  to  fulfill  Mrs.  Wood’s  prediction. 

But  a  few  months  after,  at  New  Orleans,  her  voice  sud¬ 
denly  deteriorated,  and  she  was  obliged  to  attempt  the 
profession  of  an  actress.  She  made  her  first  appearance, 
while  still  little  more  than  a  girl,  “  a  tall,  thin,  lanky  girl,” 
as  she  describes  herself,  in  the  difficult  part  of  Lady  Mac¬ 
beth.  She  was  obliged  to  borrow  a  dress  in  which  to  per¬ 
form  it,  and  she  played  the  part,  as  she  once  recorded, 
“  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  audience,  the  manager,  and 
the  company.”  .  At  the  end  of  that  season  she  came  to 
New  York,  and,  by  dint  of  hard  work  and  earnest  study, 
she  gradually  became  the  great  and  powerful  artist  whom 
we  all  remember.  Her  biography,  by  her  friend,  Miss 
Emma  Stebbins,  reveals  to  us  in  the  most  agreeable  man¬ 
ner  the  secret  of  her  power  as  an  actress,  as  well  as  the 
secret  of  her  charm  as  a  woman.  Here  is  the  secret,  in 
in  her  own  words  : 

“  How  many  there  are  who  have  a  horror  of  my  profes¬ 
sion  !  Yet  I  dearly  love  the  very  hard  work,  the  very 
drudgery  of  it,  which  has  made  me  what  I  am.  Despise 
labor  of  any  kind !  I  honor  it,  and  only  despise  those 
who  do  not.” 

1  will  copy  two  or  three  other  sentences  of  hers,  to 
show  what  a  wise  and  high-minded  lady  she  was : 

“  The  greatest  power  in  the  world  is  shown  in  conquest 
over  self.” 

“  How  hard  it  would  be  to  die  if  we  had  all  the  joys 
and  happiness  that  we  could  desire  here  !  The  dews  of 
autumn  penetrate  into  the  leaves  and  prepare  them  for 
their  fall.” 

“  We  cannot  break  a  law  of  eternal  justice,  however 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 


21 


ignorantly,  but  throughout  the  entire  universe  there  will 
be  a  jar  of  discord.” 

“  To  try  to  be  better  is  to  be  better.” 

“  God  knows  how  hard  I  have  striven  in  my  time  to  be 
good,  and  true,  and  worthy.  God  knows  the  struggles  I 
have  had.” 

“  Art  is  an  absolute  mistress ;  she  will  not  be  coquetted 
with,  or  slighted ;  she  requires  entire  self-devotion,  and 
she  repays  with  grand  triumphs.” 

But  the  best  thing  she  ever  wrote  or  said  in  her  life 
was  written  to  a  young  mother  rejoicing  in  the  glorious 
gift  of  a  child. 

“  No  artist  work,”  said  Miss  Cushman,  “  is  so  high,  so 
noble,  so  grand,  so  enduring,  so  important  for  all  time  as 
the  making  of  character  in  a  child.  No  statue,  no  paint¬ 
ing,  no  acting,  can  reach  it,  and  it  embodies  each  and  all 
the  arts.” 

That  is  truly  excellent,  and  is  a  truth  which  probably 
all  genuine  artists  have  felt ;  for  art  has  no  right  to  be, 
except  so  far  as  it  assists  the  best  of  all  arts — the  art  of 
living. 

I  remember  this  fine  actress  when  I  was  a  school-boy, 
at  home  from  school,  and  she  was  a  member  of  the  com¬ 
pany  of  the  old  Park  theatre  in  New  York,  acting  for 
twenty  dollars  a  week.  I  remember  her  playing  Goneril, 
in  King  Lear,  with  so  much  power  that  I  hated  her,  mak¬ 
ing  no  distinction  between  her  and  the  part  she  played. 
New  York  was  a  very  provincial  place  then,  and  could 
not  give  prestige  to  any  artist,  and  therefore  it  was  not 
until  she  went  to  England,  and  electrified  the  Londoners 
with  her  powerful  acting,  that  she  made  any  great  head¬ 
way  in  the  world  ;  although  for  years  she  had  maintained 
her  mother,  and  been  the  mainstay  of  the  family.  In 
England  she  made  a  considerable  fortune,  which,  towards 
the  close  of  her  life,  was  much  increased  in  her  native 


22 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 


land.  She  was  always  glad,  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity, 
to  recall  the  period  of  poverty  and  anxiety  which  preceded 
her  great  success  in  England,  when  she  was  living  in  the 
vast,  strange  city  of  London,  with  no  companion  save  her 
faithful  maid,  Sallie  Mercer,  with  no  present  prospect  of 
an  engagement,  and  with  almost  no  money.  The  strictest, 
severest  economy  was  necessary ;  and  she  used  to  relate 
with  great  amusement  and  no  small  pride  the  ingenious 
shifts  to  which  she  and  Sallie  were  driven  in  matters  of 
housekeeping,  and  how  they  both  rejoiced  over  an  occa¬ 
sional  invitation  to  dine  out.  Sallie  herself  bears  wit¬ 
ness  to  their  straitened  circumstances. 

“  Miss  Cushman  lived  on  a  mutton-chop  a  day,”  she  once 
said,  “  and  I  always  bought  the  baker’s  dozen  of  muffins 
for  the  sake  of  the  extra  one,  and*  we  ate  them  all,  no 
matter  how  stale  they  were ;  and  we  never  suffered  from 
want  of  appetite  in  those  days.” 

In  spite  of  all  their  economies,  things  went  from  bad 
to  worse,  and  Miss  Cushman  was  actually  reduced  to  her 
last  sovereign,  when  Mr.  Maddox,  the  manager  of  the 
Princess  Theatre,  came  to  secure  her.  Sallie,  the  devoted 
and  acute  (whom  Miss  Cushman  had  first  engaged  on 
account  of  what  she  called  her  “  conscientious  eyebrows 
was  on  the  look-out,  as  usual,  and  descried  him  walking 
up  and  down  the  street  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way,  too  early  in  the  morning  for  a  call. 

“  He  is  anxious,”  said  Miss  Cushman  joyfully,  when 
this  was  reported  to  her.  “  I  can  make  my  own  terms !  ” 

She  did  so,  and  her  ddbut  took  place  shortly  afterward, 
her  r61e  being  Bianca,  in  Milman’s  tragedy  of  Fazio. 
Her  success  was  complete  and  dazzling.  The  London 
Times  of  the  next  day  said  of  it : 

“  The  early  part  of  the  play  affords  no  criterion  of 
what  an  actress  can  do ;  but  from  the  instant  where  she 
suspects  that  her  husband’s  affections  arc  wavering,  and 


CHAHLOTTU  CUSHMAN. 


23 


with  a  flash  of  horrible  enlightenment  exclaims,  ‘  Fazio, 
thou  hast  seen  Aldobella  !  ’  Miss  Cushman’s  career  was 
certain.  The  variety  which  she  threw  into  the  dialogue 
with  her  husband — from  jealousy  dropping  back  into  ten¬ 
derness,  from  hate  passing  to  love,  while  she  gave  an 
equal  intensity  to  each  successive  passion,  as  if  her  whole 
soul  were  for  the  moment  absorbed  in  that  only — was 
astonishing,  and  yet  she  always  seemed  to  feel  as  if  she 
had  not  done  enough.  Her  utterance  "was  more  and 
more  earnest,  more  and  more  rapid,  as  if  she  hoped  the 
very  force  of  the  words  would  give  her  an  impetus.  The 
crowning  effort  was  the  supplication  to  Aldobella,  when 
the  wife,  falling  on  her  knees,  makes  the  greatest  sacrifice 
of  her  pride  to  save  the  man  she  has  destroyed.  Nothing 
could  exceed  the  determination  with  which,  lifting  her 
clasped  hands,  she  urged  her  suit — making  offer  after 
offer  to  her  proud  rival,  os  if  she  could  not  give  too 
much  and  feared  to  reflect  on  the  value  of  her  conces¬ 
sions — till  at  last,  repelled  by  the  cold  marchioness  and 
exhausted  by  her  own  passion,  rhe  sank  huddled  into  a 
heap  at  her  feet.” 

This  was  the  climax  of  the  plajr,  and  Miss  Cushman 
was  in  reality  so  overcome  by  the  tremendous  force  of 
her  own  acting,  as  well  as  by  the  agitation  consequent 
upon  the  occasion,  that  it  was  long  before  sh  could 
muster  sufficient  strength  to  rise ;  and  the  thunderous 
applause  which  burst  from  all  parts  of  the  house  was 
even  more  welcome  as  granting  her  a  breathing  space 
than  as  an  evidence  of  satisfaction.  When  at  last  she 
slowly  rose  to  her  feet,  the  scene  was  one  which  she  could 
never  afterward  recall  without  experiencing  a  thrill  of  the 
old  triumph.  The  audience  were  all  standing,  some 
mounted  upon  their  seats;  many  were  sobbing;  more 
were  cheering,  and  the  gentlemen  were  waving  their  hats 
and  the  ladies  their  handkerchiefs. 


24 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 


“  All  my  successes  put  together  since  I  have  been  upon 
the  stage,”  she  wrote  home,  “  would  not  come  near  my 
success  in  London,  and  I  only  wanted  some  one  of  you 
thereto  enjoy  it  with  me,  to  make  it  complete.” 

She  and  Sallie  were  no  longer  filled  with  gratitude  for 
a  chance  invitation  to  dinner.  Invitations  came  in  show¬ 
ers  and  they  were  overrun  with  visitors.  It  soon  became 
a  joke  that  Miss  Cushman  was  never  in  a  room  with  less 
tli  in  six  people.  She  sat  to  five  artists,  and  distinguished 
P':o[de  of  all  kinds  overwhelmed  her  with  attentions. 

“  1  hesitate  to  write  even  to  you,”  she  says  in  a  letter 
to  her  mother,  "  the  agreeable  and  complimentary  things 
that  are  said  and  done  to  me  here,  for  it  looks  monstrously 
like  boasting.  1  like  you  to  know  it,  but  I  hate  to  tell  it 
t,o  you  myself.” 

After  a  splendid  career  of  success  on  both  sides  of  the 
Atlantic,  she  took  up  her  abode  at  Rome,  returning  occa¬ 
sionally  to  her  mtive  land.  It  so  chanced  that  she  was 
obliged  to  resume  her  Roman  residence  soon  after  the 
war  broke  out,  and  she  deeply  lamented  that  she  was 
called  away  from  her  country  at  such  a  time.  But  she 
bore  her  share  in  the  struggle.  It  is  hard  to  imagine  how 
she  could  have  been  spared  from  her  post  in  Rome,  where 
she  was  the  light  and  consolation  of  the  desponding  little 
American  colony.  In  the  darkest  days,  when  the  news 
from  home  was  of  defeat  following  defeat,  her  faith  never 
wavered  for  an  instant.  She  was  sure  the  Union  cause 
would  prove  victorious. 

Her  countrymen  in  the  city  called  her  “  the  Sunbeam”  ; 
and  in  after  days  many  of  them  confessed  to  having 
walked  the  streets  again  and  again,  in  the  mere  hope  of 
meeting  her  and  getting  a  passing  word  of  cheer.  A  year 
before  this,  in  London,  she  held  with  her  banker,  Mr. 
Piabody,  a  little  conversation  which  perhaps  displays  her 
feenng  better  than  anything  else.  He  told  her  that  tho 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 


25 


war  could  not  go  on  ;  the  business  men  of  the  world 
would  not  allow  it 

“  Mr.  Peabody,”  she  replied,  “  I  saw  that  first  Maine 
regiment  that  answered  to  Lincoln's  call  march  down 
State  Street  in  Boston  with  their  chins  in  the  air,  singing: 

‘  John  Brown’s  soul  is  ruarcliing  on,’ 

and,  believe  me,  this  war  will  not  end  till  slavery  is 
abolished,  whether  it  be  in  five  years  or  thirty.” 

In  1862,  in  a  letter  from  Rome  written  when  news  of 
the  early  Union  successes  began  at  last  to  be  received,  she 
lets  us  perceive  how  sorely  this  high  confidence  had  been 
tried. 

“  It  has  been  so  hard,”  she  wrote,  “  amid  the  apparent 
successes  of  the  other  side,  the  defection,  the  weakness 
of  men  on  our  side,  the  willingness  of  even  the  best  to 
take  advantage  of  the  needs  of  the  government,  the 
ridicule  of  sympathizers  with  the  South  on  this  side,  the 
abuse  of  the  English  journals,  and  the  utter  impossibility 
of  beating  into  the  heads  of  individual  English  that  there 
could  be  no  right  in  the  seceding  party — all  has  been  so 
hard,  and  we  have  fought  so  valiantly  for  our  faith,  have 
so  tired  and  tried  ourselves  in  talking  and  showing  our 
belief,  that  when  the  news  came  day  after  day  of  our 
successes,  and  at  last  yonr  letter,  I  could  not  read  the 
account  aloud,  and  tears — hot  but  refreshing  tears  ol  joy, 
fell  copiously  upon  the  page.  0,  I  am  too  thankful ;  and 
I  am  too  anxious  to  come  home!  ...  I  never  cared  half 
so  much  for  America  before  ;  but  I  feel  that  now  I  love 
it  dearly,  and  want  to  see  it  and  live  in  it.” 

To  live  in  it  was  impossible  just  then,  but  the  long¬ 
ing  to  see  it  became  too  strong  to  be  resisted.  She 
resolved  to  return  at  least  long  enough  to  act  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Sanitary  Fund ;  and  in  June,  1863,  she 
sailed  for  home.  Five  performances  were  given — one 


26 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 


each  in  New  York,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  and 
Washington — and  were  so  successful  that  she  had  the 
pleasure  of  sending  to  Dr.  Bellows,  president  of  the  Sani¬ 
tary  Commission,  from  the  vessel  in  which  she  left  to 
return  to  Europe,  a  check  for  the  sum  of  eight  thousand 
two  hundred  and  sixty-seven  dollars. 

“I  know  no  distinction  of  North,  East,  South,  or  West,” 
she  wrote  in  the  letter  which  accompanied  this  generous 
gift ;  “  it  is  all  my  country,  and  where  there  is  most 
need,  there  do  I  wish  the  proceeds  of  my  labor  to  be 
given.” 

One  more  extract,  taken  from  a  letter  written  to  Miss 
Fanny  Seward  when  the  final  triumph  came,  may  fittingly 
close  Miss  Cushman’s  record  as  a  patriot.  It  is  her  song 
of  exultation  : 

“With  regard  to  my  own  dearly  beloved  land,  of  which 
I  am  so  proud  that  my  heart  swells  and  my  eyes  brim 
over  as  I  think  to-day  of  her  might,  her  majesty,  and  the 
power  of  her  long-suffering,  her  abiding  patience,  her 
unequaled  unanimity,  her  resolute  prudence,  her  ina¬ 
bility  to  recognize  bondage  and  freedom  in  our  constitu¬ 
tion,  and  her  stalwart  strength  in  forcing  that  which  she 
could  not  obtain  by  reasoning.  .  .  .  To-day  my  pride,  my 
faith,  my  love  of  country,  is  blessed  and  satisfied  in  the 
news  that  has  flashed  to  us  that  ‘  the  army  of  Lee  has 
capitulated !  ’  that  we  are  and  must  be  one  sole,  undi¬ 
vided —  not  common,  but  mcommon  —  country;  great, 
glorious,  free ;  henceforth  an  honor  and  a  power  among 
nations,  a  sign  and  a  symbol  to  the  down-trodden  peoples, 
and  a  terror  to  evil-doers  upon  earth.” 

After  a  long  period  of  retirement,  she  returned  to  the 
scene  of  her  former  triumphs.  People  wondered  why  she 
should  continue  to  act  during  her  last  years,  when  she 
was  tormented  by  the  pain  of  an  incurable  disease,  and 
when  she  had  a  beautiful  home  at  Newport,  where  there 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 


27 


was  everything  to  cheer  and  charm  her  declining  years. 
A  single  sentence  in  one  of  her  last  letters  explains  it, 
wherein  she  says : 

“  I  am  suffering  a  good  deal  more  pain  than  I  like  to 
acknowledge,  and  only  when  I  am  on  the  stage  or  asleep 
am  I  unconscious  of  it.” 

She  died  at  Boston  in  1876,  aged  sixty.  There  have 
been  a  few  greater  actresses  than  Charlotte  Cushman,  but 
a  better  woman  never  trod  the  stage.  The  very  soul  of 
goodness  dwelt  in  her  heart,  and  inspired  her  life. 


MARIA  MITCHELL. 


ROFESSOR  MARIA  MITCHELL,  the  distinguished 


I  astronomer,  whose  face  is  so  vividly  remembered  by 
Vassar  students  of  recent  years,  is  of  Quaker  parentage, 
and  a  native  of  the  island  of  Nantucket. 

She  was  born  on  the  first  of  August,  1818,  one  of  a 
numerous  family.  During  her  childhood  she  attended 
with  her  brothers  and  sisters,  the  school  taught  hy  their 
father,  who  had  the  pleasure  of  finding  them  his  best 
pupils.  The  little  Mitchells,  quick  and  intelligent  as  they 
showed  themselves  to  be,  were  as  well  constituted  physic¬ 
ally  as  mentally;  they  romped,  raced,  and  shouted  as 
healthy  children  do.  In  appearance  they  differed  widely, 
some  being  fair-liaired  and  of  blonde  complexion,  while 
others  were  strongly  marked  brunettes  ;  but  all  possessed 
the  family  characteristics  of  intelligence  and  perseverance. 
They  were,  as  one  of  them  afterwards  expressed  it,  “  all 
alike  inside.”  Maria,  a  brown-skinned,  dark-eyed,  lively 
little  girl,  was  not  considered  by  the  family  to  display  any 
greater  ability  than  the  others,  although  at  the  age  of 
eleven,  while  still  her  father’s  pupil,  she  became  his 
assistant  teacher.  Nor  did  she  rate  her  intellectual  gifts 
as  highly  as  without  vanity  she  might. 

“  Born  of  only  ordinary  capacity,  but  of  extraordinary 
persistency,”  she  said  of  herself  in  later  years,  looking 
back  upon  her  career.  But  she  added  with  a  simplicity 
as  rare  as  it  is  pleasing : 

“  I  did  not  quite  take  this  in  myself,  until  I  came  to 


28 


MARIA  MITCHELL. 


MARIA  MITCHELL. 


31 


mingle  with  the  best  girls  of  our  college,  and  to  be  aware 
how  rich  their  mines  are,  and  how  little  they  have  been 
worked.” 

Her  education,  both  in  and  out  of  school,  was  of  the 
best  and  most  suitable  kind.  In  the  intelligent  home  of 
which  she  was  a  member  the  news  of  the  day  was  eagerly 
gathered  and  discussed ;  scientific  topics  received  a  fair 
share  of  attention;  and  many  strange  facts,  not  to  be 
found  in  books,  were  related  and  commented  upon.  She 
learned,  moreover,  to  use  her  hands  helpfully  and  skill¬ 
fully,  to  dress  tastefully  but  simply,  and  to  live  con¬ 
tentedly  a  plain,  frugal  life,  brightened  by  study,  affec¬ 
tion,  and  society.  She  had  many  good  friends  upon  the 
island,  and  visitors  of  distinction  who  landed  upon  its 
shores  seldom  failed  to  call  at  her  father’s  house,  where  a 
hospitable  welcome  awaited  them,  as  well  as  the  pleasure 
of  imparting  whatever  store  of  knowledge  or  anecdote 
they  might  possess  to  a  group  of  curious  young  people 
with  a  gift  for  listening. 

At  sixteen  she  left  school,  and  at  eighteen  accepted  the 
position  of  librarian  of  the  Nantucket  library.  Her  duties 
were  light,  and  she  had  ample  opportunity,  surrounded  as 
she  was  by  books,  to  read  and  study,  while  leisure  was 
also  left  her  to  pursue  by  practical  observation  the  science 
in  which  she  afterwards  became  known. 

Those  who  dwell  upon  the  smaller  islands  learn  almost 
of  necessity  to  study  the  sea  and  sky.  The  Mitchell  family 
possessed  an  excellent  telescope.  From  childhood  Maria 
had  been  accustomed  to  the  use  of  this  instrument,  search¬ 
ing  out  with  its  aid  the  distant  sails  upon  the  horizon  by 
day,  and  viewing  the  stars  by  night.  Her  father  possessed 
a  marked  taste  for  astronomy,  and  carried  on  a  series  of 
independent  observations.  He  taught  his  daughter  all 
he  knew,  and  she  studied  for  herself  besides. 

At  half  past  ten  in  the  evening,  on  the  first  of  October, 


32 


MARIA  MITCHELL. 


1847,  slie  made  the  discovery  which  first  brought  her 
name  before  the  public.  She  was  gazing  through  her 
glass  with  her  usual  quiet  intentness,  when  suddenly  she 
was  startled  to  perceive  “  an  unknown  comet,  nearly  ver¬ 
tical  above  Polaris,  about  five  degrees.”  At  first  she 
could  not  believe  her  eyes ;  then  hoping  and  doubting, 
scarcely  daring  to  think  that  she  had  really  made  a  dis¬ 
covery,  she  obtained  its  right  ascension  and  declination. 
She  then  told  her  father,  who,  two  days  later,  sent  the 
following  letter  to  his  friend,  Professor  Bond  of  Cam¬ 
bridge  : 

Nantucket,  10th  mo.,  3d.  1847. 

My  dear  Friend 1  write  now  merely  to  say  that  Maria 
discovered  a  telescopic  comet  at  half-past  ten,  on  the 
evening  of  the  first  instant,  at  that  hour  nearly  above 
Polaris  five  degrees.  Last  evening  it  had  advanced  west¬ 
erly ;  this  evening  still  further,  and  nearing  the  pole.  It 
docs  not  bear  illumination.  Maria  has  obtained  its  right 
ascension  and  declination,  and  will  not  suffer  me  to 
announce  it.  Pray  tell  me  whether  it  is  one  of  Georgia  ;  if 
not  whether  it  has  been  seen  by  anybody.  Maria  sup¬ 
poses  it  may  be  an  old  story.  If  quite  convenient  just 
drop  a  line  to  her  ;  it  will  oblige  me  much.  I  expect  to 
leave  heme  in  a  day  or  two,  and  shall  be  in  Boston  next 
week,  and  I  wrould  like  to  have  her  hear  from  you  before 
I  can  meet  you.  I  hope  it  will  not  give  thee  much 
trouble  amidst  thy  close  engagements.  Our  regards  are 
to  all  of  you  most  truly, 

William  Mitchell. 

The  answer  to  this  letter  informed  them  that  the  comet 
was  indeed  a  discovery.  Meanwhile  it  had  been  observed 
by  several  other  astronomers,  including  Father  da  Vico 
at  Rome,  and  another  lady,  Madam  Runker,  at  Hamburg ; 
but  Miss  Mitchell  was  able  to  prove  without  difficulty  that 
she  had  been  the  first  to  observe  it.  There  was  another 


MARIA  MITCHELL. 


33 


thing  to  be  considered,  however.  Frederick  VI  of  Den¬ 
mark  had,  about  fifteen  years  before  this  time,  established 
a  gold  medal  of  twenty  ducats’  value  to  be  bestowed  upon 
any  person  who  should  first  discover  a  telescopic  comet  ; 
and  this  prize  Miss  Mitchell  might  fairly  claim.  But  the 
provisions  concerning  the  award  required  that  the  dis¬ 
coverer  should  comply  with  several  conditions.  “  If  a 
resident  of  Great  Britain  or  any  other  quarter  of  the  globe 
except  the  continent  of  Europe,”  he  was  to  send  notice,  “  by 
first  post  after  the  discovery,”  to  the  astronomer-royal  of 
London. 

Miss  Mitchell,  desiring  to  be  certain  that  her  discovery 
was  indeed  original,  had  omitted  to  do  this,  and  she  was 
therefore  in  doubt  whether  she  might  claim  the  medal. 
But  as  the  intent  of  this  neglected  formality  could  have 
been  nothing  more  than  to  insure  the  medal’s  falling  into 
the  right  hands,  and  as  proof  existed  that  she  was  the 
earliest  discoverer,  she  succeeded,  with  the  assistance  of 
Edward  Everett,  who  warmly  took  her  part,  in  obtaining 
her  well-merited  distinction. 

For  ten  years  after  this  event  she  retained  her  position 
in  the  library,  faithfully  discharging  her  duty  toward  the 
institution,  and  at  the  same  time  performing,  to  the  satis¬ 
faction  of  the  government,  much  difficult  mathematical 
work  in  connection  with  the  coast  survey.  She  also 
assisted  in  the  compilation  of  the  American  Nautical 
Almanac. 

In  1857  she  went  abroad  and  visited  most  of  the 
famous  observatories  of  Europe.  She  was  everywhere 
received  with  distinction,  and  acquired  the  friendship  of 
many  of  the  leading  astronomers  of  the  day,  besides 
being  elected  a  member  of  several  important  scientific 
societies.  On  her  return  home  she  had  the  pleasure  of 
finding  that  her  friends  had  caused  an  excellent  observa¬ 
tory  to  be  fitted  up  for  her  iu  her  absence,  and  here  she 


34 


MARIA  MITCHELL. 


continued  her  astronomical  pursuits  until  the  year  1865, 
when  she  was  invited  to  become  Professor  of  Astronomy 
at  Yassar  College,  in  the  State  of  New  York.  She  did 
not  feel  certain  that  she  could  suitably  fill  this  interest¬ 
ing  post,  and  hesitated  some  time  before  accepting  it.  It 
is  certain  that  the  institution  has  never  regretted  her 
favorable  decision. 

She  at  once  proved  herself  an  excellent  teacher,  and 
the  course  in  astronomy  soon  came  to  be  regarded  as 
one  of  the  pleasantest,  as  well  as  one  of  the  best  that  the 
college  afforded.  It  is  elective  and  informal,  her  classes 
being  the  only  ones  that  are  not  begun  and  ended  at  the 
tap  of  an  electric  gong.  The  course  consists,  besides  a 
few  lectures  in  the  Sophomore  year,  of  regular  lessons 
during  the  Junior  and  Senior  years.  It  is  chiefly  practi¬ 
cal  and  mathematical ;  including,  however,  some  popular 
astronomy.  The  practical  portion  is  that  which  most 
interests  the  professor,  who  is  continually  urging  her 
pupils  to  use  their  eyes.  She  encourages  them  to  make 
use  also  of  the  smaller  telescopes  every  fair  night,  and 
allows  the  Seniors  some  independent  use  of  the  great 
Equatorial  telescope  in  the  observatory.  She  is  apt  to 
display  some  anxiety  on  these  occasions,  however,  and 
seldom  fails  to  warn  a  student  who  is  going  up  to  take 
an  observation,  not  to  hit  her  head  against  the  telescope. 
Her  fears,  as  she  explains,  are  not  for  the  head,  but  for 
the  instrument.  Drawings  of  the  observations  are  inva¬ 
riably  required. 

In  class,  Miss  Mitchell  is  abrupt  but  kindly,  expecting 
and  obtaining  from  each  student  the  nest  that  she  can 
do.  With  the  plodding,  modest  girl,  possessed  of  no 
brilliant  qualities,  but  willing  to  work,  she  is  always 
patient,  and  ready  to  give  encouragement  and  assistance. 
To  the  superficial  and  the  conceited  she  shows  little 
mercy,  considering  it  a  part  of  her  duty  to  abate  their 


MARIA  MITCHELL. 


35 


ranity.  She  has,  as  a  Vassar  girl  remarks,  “little 
patience  with  fancy  theories.” 

She  lodges  at  the  observatory  with  one  or  two  assist¬ 
ants,  and  takes  her  meals  at  the  college.  Men  are 
employed  at  the  observatory  only  for  heavy  lifting, 
all  the  intellectual  work  being  accomplished  by  Miss 
Mitchell  and  her  students.  It  is  the  duty  of  one  of  these 
to  photograph  the  sun  at  noon  every  pleasant  day,  and 
daily  observations  are  several  times  taken  upon  the  tem¬ 
perature,  clouds,  and  rainfall. 

Miss  Mitchell’s  “  Dome  Party”  which  recurs  every 
June  a  few  days  before  commencement,  is  the  unique 
social  event  of  the  college  year.  All  present  and  former 
students  who  are  in  town  receive  an  invitation  to  attend, 
and  are  expected  to  appear  with  mathematical  accuracy 
at  the  appointed  hour.  The  guests  are  received  in  a 
pretty  parlor,  whose  furniture  satisfies  the  requirements 
of  both  society  and  science.  Behind  a  railing  at  one 
end  stand  the  chronograph  and  sidereal  clock,  while 
between  them  in  a  window  framed  with  vines,  is  placed 
a  bust  of  Mrs.  Somerville,  presented  to  the  college  by 
Frances  Power  Cobbe.  Near  by  are  two  tall  bookcases 
containing  a  miscellaneous  collection  of  books,  including 
a  little  of  everything  from  poetry  to  the  Principia. 

When  all  have  arrived  breakfast  is  announced,  and  the 
company  form  in  a  procession,  ranging  themselves  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  year  of  graduation.  Two  large  baize  doors 
then  swing  open,  and  the  party,  mounting  a  short  flight 
of  stairs,  find  themselves  in  the  dome  itself,  with  the 
great  equatorial  telescope  overhead,  pointing  to  the  sky.. 
Here  the  repast  is  served,  upon  tables  arranged  in  a 
circle  around  the  walls,  a  rosebud  and  a  tiny  photograph 
of  the  dome  being  laid  at  each  plate.  The  meal  is  pleas¬ 
ant  both  to  the  palate  and  to  the  social  sense ;  but  it  is 
not  until  the  tables  are  cleared  that  the  most  enjoyable 
part  of  the  entertainment  begins. 


36 


MARIA  MITCHELL. 


Every  one  receives  a  motto  paper,  containing  a  few 
amusing  lines  about  some  membei  of  the  company,  writ¬ 
ten  by  Miss  Mitchell  or  her  assistants.  These  are  often 
witty  but  never  caustic,  and  their  reading  is  productive 
of  much  mirth.  When  they  have  all  been  read,  the  host¬ 
ess  brings  out  a  good  sized  basket  which,  during  the  few 
days  preceding  the  dome  party,  has  been  filled  with  some¬ 
what  similar  effusions,  dropped  in  anonymously  by  college 
poets.  Songs  follow,  by  the  “Pleiades”  Glee  Club,  and 
to  this  impromptu  rhyming  by  those  present  succeeds/ 
the  subjects  selected  being  personal  or  scientific,  and  the 
best  verses  composed  are  hastily  set  to  familiar  tunes, 
and  sung  by  a  chorus  of  girls  perched  above  their  fellows 
on  the  movable  observatory  stairs.  Sometimes  the  spirit 
of  poetizing  becomes  so  prevalent  that  no  one  speaks 
except  in  rhyme,  Miss  Mitchell  herself,  whom  all  pro¬ 
nounce  to  be  the  most  delightful  of  hostesses,  bearing  a 
leading  part  in  the  game. 

Beside  her  constant  and  successful  labors  in  teaching, 
the  public  is  indebted  to  Miss  Mitchell  for  several  import¬ 
ant  essays  upon  scientific  subjects.  Until  a  short  time 
ago  she  edited  the  Astronomical  Notes  in  the  Scientific 
American.  These  appeared  every  month,  and  were  based 
on  calculations  made  by  her  students.  At  one  time  also 
she  made  a  journey  to  Colorado  to  observe  a  solar  eclipse. 
At  another  she  had  traveled  as  far  as  Providence  on  her 
way  to  visit  friends  in  Boston,  when  she  learned  of  the 
discovery  of  a  new  comet,  and  at  once  renounced  the 
expedition  and  returned  to  Yassar  to  observe  it.  For 
five  nights  all  went  well ;  on  the  sixth  a  large  apple  tree 
obstructed  her  view,  but  she  promptly  summoned  a  man 
to  cut  it  down,  and  carried  her  observations  to  a  satisfac¬ 
tory  conclusion. 

She  has  always  been  noted  for  her  liberal  and  enlight¬ 
ened  opinions  upon  religious  and  social  affairs,  and  has 


MARIA  MITCHELL. 


37 


taken  of  course  deep  interest  in  the  advancement  of  her 
sex.  She  once  read  before  the  Society  for  the  Advance¬ 
ment  of  Women  an  interesting  paper  upon  the  Collegiate 
Education  of  Girls,  a  subject  which  few  people  could  be 
more  competent  than  she  to  discuss.  She  is  a  member  of 
the  New  England  Women’s  Club  of  Boston,  which  in  the 
Winter  of  1881-2  held  a  reception  in  her  honor,  and, 
moreover,  voted  that  the  same  tribute  should  be  rendered 
to  her  yearly.  The  meeting,  it  was  decided,  should  be 
held  in  the  holidays  between  Christmas  and  New  Year’s, 
and  the  day  should  be  called  “  Maria  Mitchell’s  Day.” 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


INCINNATI,  fifty-five  years  ago, -was  a  city  of  twenty 


thousand  inhabitants.  As  the  center  of  the  grow¬ 


ing  business  of  the  Ohio  valley,  it  enjoyed  a  European 
celebrity  which  drew  to  it  many  emigrants,  and  some 
visitors  of  capital  and  education.  The  Trollope  family, 
since  so  famous  in  literature,  were  living  there  at  that 
time  in  a  cottage  just  under  the  bluff  which  overhangs 
the  town.  Fresh  from  England,  and  retaining  all  their 
English  love  of  nature  and  out-of-door  exercise,  the  whole 
family,  parents,  two  sons  and  two  daughters,  often  climbed 
that  lofty  and  umbrageous  height,  since  pierced  by  an 
elevator,  and  now  crowned  by  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
streets  in  the  world. 

Mrs.  Trollope,  her  two  daughters,  and  her  second  son, 
Henry,  then  a  lad  of  twelve,  had  reached  Cincinnati  by 
the  Mississippi  River,  and  were  joined  there  afterwards  by 
her  eldest  son  and  her  husband,  who  wras  a  London 
lawyer  of  some  distinction.  In  her  work  upon  the 
“Domestic  Manners  of  the  Americans,”  the  lady  does 
not  mention  the  motive  of  this  visit  to  America.  We 
have  the  liberty  of  guessing  it.  She  was  an  ardent  friend 
of  Miss  Frances  Wright,  an  English  lady  of  fortune  and 
benevolence,  who  came  to  this  country  with  the  Trollopes 
in  1827,  with  the  view  of  founding  a  Communal  Home 
according  to  the  ideas  of  Owen  and  Fourier.  Miss  Wright 
afterwards  lectured  in  New  York  and  elsewhere,  but  her 
ideas  were  deemed  erroneous  and  romantic,  and  she  had 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


39 


very  little  success  in  paining  adherents.  She  was  part 
of  the  movement  which  led  to  Brook  Farm,  New  Har¬ 
mony,  and  similar  establishments  founded  on  principles 
which  work  beautifully  so  long  as  they  are  confined  to  the 
amiable  thoughts  of  their  founders. 

It  is  probable  that  Mrs.  Trollope,  without  being  a 
dreamer  of  this  school,  came  to  America  a  sentimental 
republican,  expecting  to  find  here  the  realization  of  a 
dream  not  less  erroneous  than  that  of  Frances  Wright. 
She  was  wofully  disappointed.  In  New  Orleans,  where 
she  landed,  she  saw  slavery,  and  shuddered  at  the 
spectacle. 

“At  the  sight,”  she  says,  “  of  every  negro  man,  woman, 
and  child  that  passed,  my  fancy  wove  some  little  romance 
of  misery  as  belonging  to  each  of  them ;  since  I  have 
known  more  on  the  subject,  and  become  better  acquainted 
with  their  real  situation  in  America,  I  have  often  smiled 
at  recalling  what  I  then  felt.” 

This  was  one  great  shock.  She  was,  perhaps,  not  less 
offended,  as  an  Englishwoman  and  the  daughter  of  a 
clergyman  of  the  church  of  England,  to  find  that  the 
white  people  were  living  together  on  terms  approaching 
social  equality.  She  found  in  New  Orleans  a  milliner 
holding  a  kind  of  levee  in  her  shop,  to  whom  she  was 
formally  introduced,  and  who. spoke  of  the  French  fashions 
to  the  ladies,  and  of  metaphysics  to  the  gentlemen.  Mrs. 
Trollope  was  not  severely  afflicted  at  this  instance  of 
republican  equality  ;  but  the  free  and  easy  manners  pre¬ 
vailing  on  board  of  the  Mississippi  steamboats  disgusted 
her  entirely,  particularly  the  frightful  expectorating  of 
the  men,  and  their  silent  voracity  at  the  dinner  table. 

And  here  she  fell  into  her  great  mistake.  She  attribu¬ 
ted  the  crude  provincialisms  of  American  life  to  the 
institutions  of  the  country,  and  not  their  true  cause,  the 
desperate  struggle  in  which  the  people  were  engaged  with 


40 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


savage  nature.  If  she  had  carried  out  her  original  inten¬ 
tion,  and  passed  some  months  with  Miss  Wright  on  the 
tract  of  primeval  wilderness  which  that  lady  bought  in 
Tennessee,  she  might  have  learned  what  it  costs  >o  settle 
and  subdue  a  virgin  continent.  She  might  have  dis¬ 
covered  that  when  human  beings  subdue  the  wilderness, 
the  wilderness  wreaks  a  revenge  upon  them  in  making 
them  half  wild.  Many  of  the  arts  of  domestic  life  are 
lost  in  the  struggle.  Grace  of  manners  is  lost.  The  art 
of  cookery  is  lost.  Comfort  is  forgotten.  Men  may  gain 
in  rude  strength,  but  must  lose  in  elegance  and  agreeable¬ 
ness.  Mrs.  Trollope,  whether  from  perversity  or  want  of 
penetration,  perceived  nothing  of  this,  and  conceived  for 
the  people  of  the  United  States  an  extreme  repugnance. 

“  I  do  not  like  them,”  she  frankly  wrote,  after  a  stay 
among  us  of  three  or  four  years.  “  I  do  not  like  their 
principles,  I  do  not  like  their  manners,  I  do  not  like  their 
opinions,  I  do  not  like  their  government.” 

She  expanded  these  sentiments  into  two  highly  amusing 
volumes,  which  contain  some  pure  truth,  some  not  unfair 
burlesque,  and  an  amount  of  misstatement,  misconception, 
prejudice,  and  perversity  absolutely  without  example.  She 
had  her  work  illustrated  with  a  dozen  or  two  of  carica¬ 
tures,  not  ill-executed,  which  can  now  be  inspected  as 
curious  relics  of  antiquity.  In  America  half  a  century 
ago  is  antiquity. 

But  I  left  the  Trollopes  in  Cincinnati  in  1828,  father, 
mother,  and  four  children.  They  had  then  been  in  the 
country  more  than  a  year,  quite  long  enough  for  Mrs. 
Trollope  to  discover  that  Cincinnati  had  little  in  common 
with  the  republic  of  her  dreams.  She  had  had  enough 
of  America.  How  she  abhorred  and  detested  Cincinnati, 
the  first  place  at  which  she  had  halted  long  enough  for 
much  observation  !  She  says  : 

“  Were  I  an  English  legislator,  instead  of  sending 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


41 


•Sedition  to  the  Tower,  I  would  send  her  to  make  a  tour  of 
the  United  States.  1  had  a  little  leaning  towards  sedition 
myself  when  I  set  out,  but  before  I  had  half  completed 
my  tour  I  was  quite  cured.” 

She  admits  that  everybody  at  Cincinnati  had  as  much 
pork,  beef,  hominy,  and  clothes  as  the  animal  man 
required.  Every  one  reveled  in  abundance.  But — 

“The  total  and  universal  want  of  manners,  both  in 
males  and  females,  is  so  remarkable,  that  I  was  constantly 
endeavoring  to  account  for  it.” 

She  was  sure  it  did  not  proceed  from  want  of  intellect. 
On  the  contrary,  the  people  of  Cincinnati  appeared  to  her 
to  have  clear  heads  and  active  minds.  But — 

“There  is  no  charm,  no  grace  in  their  conversation.  I 
very  seldom,  during  my  whole  stay  in  the  country,  heard 
a  sentence  elegantly  turned  and  correctly  pronounced 
from  the  lips  of  an  American.” 

She  gives  her  recollections  of  the  evening  parties  in 
Cincinnati  sixty  years  ago: 

“  The  women  invariably  herd  together  at  one  part  of 
the  room,  and  the  men  at  the  other ;  but  in  justice  to 
Cincinnati,  I  must  acknowledge  that  this  arrangement  is 
by  no  means  peculiar  to  that  city,  or  to  the  western  side 
of  the  Allcghanies.  Sometimes  a  small  attempt  at  music 
produces  a  partial  reunion  ;  a  few  of  the  most  daring 
youths,  animated  by  the  consciousness  of  curled  hair  and 
smart  waistcoats,  approached  the  piano-forte,  and  began 
to  mutter  a  little  to  t lie  half-grown  pretty  tilings,  who 
are  comparing  with  one  another  ‘how  many  quarters’ 
music  they  have  had.’  Where  the  mansion  is  of  sufficient 
dignity  to  have  two  drawing-rooms,  the  piano,  the  little 
ladies,  and  the  slender  gentlemen  are  left  to  themselves, 
and  on  such  occasions  the  sound  of  laughter  is  often 
heard  to  issue  from  among  them.  But  the  fate  of  the  more 
dignified  personages,  who  are  left  in  the  other  room,  is 


42 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


extremely  dismal.  The  gentlemen  spit,  talk  of  elections 
and  the  price  of  produce,  and  spit  again.  The  ladies 
look  at  each  other’s  dresses  till  they  know  every  pin  by 
heart ;  talk  of  parson  somebody’s  last  sermon  on  the  day 
of  judgment,  on  Dr.  t’otlierbody’s  new  pills  for  dyspepsia, 
till  the  “tea”  is  announced,  when  they  will  all  console 
themselves  for  whatever  they  may  have  suffered  in  keep¬ 
ing  awake,  by  taking  more  tea,  coffee,  hot  cake,  and 
custard,  hoe  cake,  johnny  cake,  waffle  cake,  and  dodger 
cake,  pickled  peaches,  and  preserved  cucumbers,  ham, 
turkey,  hung  beef,  apple  sauce,  and  pickled  oysters,  than 
ever  were  prepared  in  any  other  country  of  the  known 
world.  After  this  massive  meal  is  over,  they  return  to 
the  drawing-room,  and  it  always  appeared  to  me  that  they 
remained  together  as  long  as  they  could  bear  it,  and  then 
they  rise  en  masse ,  cloak,  bonnet,  shawl,  and  exit.” 

One  day  of  the  year  in  America  she  enjoyed,  namely, 
the  Fourth  of  July,  because  on  that  day  the  people  around 
her  seemed  to  be  happy,  and  on  that  day  alone. 

“  To  me,”  she  remarks,  “  the  dreary  coldness  and  want 
of  enthusiasm  in  American  manners  is  one  of  their  great¬ 
est  defects,  and  I  therefore  hailed  the  demonstrations  of 
general  feeling  which  this  day  elicits  with  real  pleasure. 
On  the  Fourth  of  July,  the  hearts  of  the  people  seem  to 
awaken  from  a  three  hundred  and  sixty -four  days’  sleep ; 
they  appear  high  spirited,  gay,  animated,  social,  generous, 
or  at  least  liberal  in  expense  ;  and  would  they  but  refrain 
from  spitting  on  that  hallowed  day,  I  should  say  that  on 
the  Fourth  of  July,  at  least,  they  appeared  to  be  an 
amiable  people.  It  is  true  that  the  women  have  little  to 
do  with  the  pageantry,  the  splendor,  or  the  gayety  of  the 
day  ;  but,  setting  this  defect  aside,  it  was  indeed  a  glorious 
sight  to  behold  a  jubilee  so  heartfelt  as  this  ;  and  had 
they  not  the  bad  taste  and  bad  feeling  to  utter  an  annual 
oration,  with  unvarying  abuse  of  the  mother  country. 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


43 


to  say  nothing  of  the  warlike  manifesto  called  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  our  gracious  king  himself 
might  look  upon  the  scene  and  say  that  it  was  good  ;  nay, 
even  rejoice,  that  twelve  millions  of  bustling  bodies,  at 
four  thousand  miles  distance  from  his  throne  and  his 
altars,  should  make  their  own  laws,  and  drink  their  own 
tea,  after  the  fashion  that  pleased  them  best.” 

In  the  city  of  New  York  she  found  more  agreeable 
society,  but  even  there  she  thought  the  ladies  were  terri¬ 
bly  under  the  influence  of  fanatical  ideas.  She  spent  a 
Sunday  afternoon  at  Hoboken,  and  describes  what  she 
saw  there : 

“  The  price  of  entrance  to  this  little  Eden  is  the  six 
cents  you  pay  at  the  ferry.  We  went  there  on  a  bright 
Sunday  afternoon,  expressly  to  see  the  humors  of  the 
place.  Many  thousand  persons  were  scattered  through 
the  grounds ;  of  these  we  ascertained,  by  repeatedly 
counting,  that  nineteen-twentieths  were  men.  The  ladies 
were  at  church.  Often  as  the  subject  has  pressed  upon 
my  mind,  I  think  I  never  so  strongly  felt  the  conviction 
that  the  Sabbath-day,  the  holy  day,  the  day  on  which 
alone  the  great  majority  of  the  Christian  world  can  spend 
their  hours  as  they  please,  is  ill  passed  (if  passed  entirely) 
within  brick  walls,  listening  to  an  earth-born  preacher, 
charm  he  never  so  wisbly. 

“How  is  it  that  the  men  of  America,  who  are  reckoned 
good  husbands  and  good  fathers,  while  they  themselves 
enjoy  sufficient  freedom  of  spirit  to  permit  their  walking 
forth  into  the  temple  of  the  living  God,  can  leave  those 
they  love  best  on  earth,  bound  in  the  iron  chains  of  a 
most  tyrannical  fanaticism  ?  How  can  they  breathe  the 
balmy  air,  and  not  think  of  the  tainted  atmosphere  so 
heavily  weighing  upon  breasts  still  dearer  than  their  own  ? 
How  can  they  gaze  upon  the  blossoms  of  the  spring,  and 
not  remember  the  fairer  checks  of  their  young  daughters, 


44 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


waxing  pale,  as  they  sit  for  long,  sultry  hours,  immured 
with  hundreds  of  fellow  victims,  listening  to  the  roaring 
vanities  of  a  preacher  canonized  by  a  college  of  old 
women  ?  They  cannot  think  it  needful  to  salvation,  or 
1  hey  would  not  withdraw  themselves.  Wherefore  is  it  ? 
Do  they  fear  these  self-elected,  self-ordained  priests,  and 
offer  up  their  wives  and  daughters  to  propitiate  them  ? 
Or  do  they  deem  their  hebdomadal  freedom  more  com¬ 
plete  because  their  wives  and  daughters  are  shut  up  four 
or  five  times  in  the  day  at  church  or  chapel  ?  ” 

But  enough  of  these  specimens.  The  republic  being 
insupportable,  and  Mrs.  Trollope’s  Diary  being  still 
incomplete,  it  was  necessary  for  the  family  to  come  to  a 
resolution.  Their  eldest  son,  Thomas  Adolphus,  nineteen 
years  of  age,  was  old  enough  to  be  entered  at  Oxford 
University,  and  it  was  necessary  for  his  father  to  go  with 
him  to  England.  After  family  consultations,  they 
resolved  upon  a  brief  separation,  the  father  and  eldest 
son  to  go  to  England,  the  mother  with  her  two  daughters 
and  younger  son  to  visit  the  Eastern  portions  of  the 
country,  and  fill  up  the  Diary.  That  second  son,  then 
about  fourteen  years  of  age,  was  Henry  Trollope,  after¬ 
wards  the  famous  English  novelist,  whose  recent  death 
was  lamented  in  America  not  less  than  in  England. 

No  sooner  had  they  come  to  this  resolution  than  a  piece 
of  news  reached  Cincinnati  which  induced  the  gentlemen 
to  postpone  their  departure.  General  Jackson,  President¬ 
elect,  was  on  his  triumphal  journey  to  Washington,  and 
was  expected  to  stop  a  few  hours  at  Cincinnati  on  his 
way  up  the  Ohio.  They  determined  to  wait  and  get  pas¬ 
sage  on  board  of  the  steamboat  that  bore  so  distinguished 
a  personage.  Mrs.  Trollope  and  her  family  walked  down 
to  the  landing  to  see  the  arrival  of  the  old  hero,  and  she 
almost  enjoyed  the  spectacle. 

“The  noble  steamboat  which  conveyed  him  was  flanked 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


43 


on  each  side  by  one  of  nearly  equal  size  and  splendor ; 
the  roofs  of  all  three  were  covered  by  a  crowd  of  men; 
cannon  saluted  them  from  the  shore  as  they  passed  by  to 
the  distance  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  above  the  town. 
There  they  turned  about  and  came  down  the  river  with  a 
rapid  but  stately  motion,  the  three  vessels  so  close 
together  as  to  appear  one  mighty  mass  upon  the  ■water.” 

Mrs.  Trollope  was  so  happy  as  to  catch  a  view  of  the 
Hero  of  New  Orleans  as  he  walked  bareheaded  between  a 
silent  lane  of  people  on  his  way  from  the  steamboat  to 
the  hotel,  where  he  was  to  hold  a  reception. 

“  He  wore  his  gray  hair  carelessly,”  she  remarks,  “  but 
not  ungracefully  arranged,  and,  spite  of  his  harsh,  gaunt 
features,  he  looks  like  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier.” 

Her  husband  and  her  son  conversed  much  with  the 
general  on  board  the  steamboat. 

“  They  were  pleased,”  she  says,  “  by  his  conversation 
and  manners,  but  deeply  disgusted  by  the  brutal  familiar¬ 
ity  to  which  they  saw  him  exposed  at  every  place  on 
their  progress  at  which  they  stopped.” 

Mrs.  Trollope  and  her  children  returned  to  England  in 
1830,  carrying  with  her,  as  she  te.lls  us,  six  hundred 
pages  of  manuscript  notes  similar  to  the  specimens  1  have 
given.  They  were  speedily  published,  ran  through  three 
editions  in  three  months,  were  republished  in  New  York, 
and  called  forth  an  amount  of  comment  of  all  kinds,  from 
eulogistic  to  vituperative,  which  has  rarely  been  paral¬ 
leled.  The  work  set  her  up  in  the  business  of  an  author¬ 
ess.  She  followed  it  by  a  very  long  list  of  works  of 
travel  and  fiction,  most  of  which  were  tolerably  suc¬ 
cessful. 

Both  her  sons  became  voluminous  writers,  and  some  of 
her  grandchildren  1  believe,  have  written  books.  Her 
husband,  too,  is  the  author  of  legal  works  and  a  History 
of  the  Church.  If  all  the  works  produced  by  this  family 


46 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


during  the  last  sixty  years  were  gathered  together  in 
their  original  editions,  they  would  make  a  library  of  fivo 
or  six  hundred  volumes.  Several  English  journalists 
have  been  counting  up  the  works  of  the  late  Anthony 
Trollope.  If  at  some  future  time  a  compiler  of  statistics, 
should  take  the  census  of  the  people  he  called  into  being 
on  the  printed  page,  it  will  be  found  that  he  was  the 
author  of  more  population  than  some  of  our  Western 
counties  can  boast. 

Anthony  Trollope  was  born  in  1815,  but  as  he  did  not 
begin  to  publish  till  1847,  when  he  was  thirty-two  years 
of  age,  he  was  a  public  writer  for  thirty-five  years,  and 
during  that  period  he  gave  the  world  fifty-nine  works,  of 
which  thirty-seven  were  full-fledged  novels.  Some  of  his 
publications,  such  as  his  life  of  Cicero,  and  others, 
involved  a  good  deal  of  research,  and  all  of  them  show 
marks  of  careful  elaboration.  They  give  us  the  impres¬ 
sion  that,  if  ever  he  failed  in  his  purpose,  it  was  not  from 
any  lack  of  painstaking  in  the  author. 

This  amount  of  literary  labor  would  be  reckoned 
extraordinary  if  he  had  done  nothing  else  in  his  life. 
When  we  learn  that  until  within  the  last  eight  years  he 
held  an  important  and  responsible  post  in  the  English 
Post-office  department,  which  obliged  him  to  give  attend¬ 
ance  during  business  hours,  from  eleven  to  four,  and  that 
he  was  frequently  sent  on  long  journeys  and  ocean 
voyages  on  Post-office  business,  involving  many  months’ 
continuous  absence,  we  may  well  be  amazed  at  the  cata¬ 
logue  of  his  publications. 

Of  late  years,  too,  he  was  constantly  in  society,  a  fre¬ 
quent  diner  out,  a  welcome  guest  everywhere,  as  well  as 
a  familiar  personage  in  the  hunting-field.  Hunting  was 
his  favorite  recreation,  as  walking  was  that  of  Charles 
Dickens.  Like  most  Englishmen,  he  loved  the  country, 
country  interests,  and  country  sports.  For  many  years, 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


47 


although  a  stout  man,  difficult  to  mount,  he  rode  after 
the  hounds  three  times  a  week  during  the  hunting  season. 
His  readers  do  not  need  to  be  told  that  lie  utilized  his 
hunting  experience  in  working  out  his  novels.  His 
knowledge  of  horse-flesh  was  something  like  Sam  Weller’s 
knowledge  of  London,  “  both  extensive  and  peculiar,”  for 
he  was  obliged  to  look  sharply  to  the  points  of  a  horse 
destined  to  gallop  and  leap  under  more  than  two  hundred 
pounds’  weight.  A  reader  cannot  go  far  in  his  pages 
without  being  reminded  that  he  was  a  horseman  and  a 
hunter. 

All  this  increases  the  wonder  excited  by  the  mere 
number  of  his  printed  works.  How  did  he  execute  them  ? 
and  above  all,  when  did  lie  execute  them  ? 

He  was  often  in  this  country,  mingling  freely  with  lit¬ 
erary  men,  and  he  more  than  once  in  New  York  described 
his  daily  routine.  He  rose  so  early  in  the  morning  as  to 
sit  down  to  write  at  five  o’clock,  and  he  wrote  steadily  on 
until  eight.  He  had  such  complete  command  of  his 
powers  that  lie  could  depend  upon  producing  a  certain 
number  of  pages  every  morning.  He  rarely  failed  to  do 
his  stint.  It  made  little  difference  whether  the  scene 
under  his  hand  was  of  a  tranquil  or  a  thrilling  nature, 
whether  lie  was  writing  the  critical  chapter  of  his  work 
or  one  of  its  most  commonplace  portions.  He  wrote  his 
daily  number  of  pages  before  people  in  general  had  sat 
down  to  breakfast,  and  having  done  so,  he  laid  his  manu¬ 
script  aside,  and  thought  no  more  of  it  till  the  next 
morning. 

He  told  the  late  Mr.  George  Ripley  that  he  could  pro¬ 
duce  in  this  way  two  long  novels  per  annum,  for  which  lie 
received  (if  1  remember  rightly)  three  thousand  guineas 
each,  or  fifteen  thousand  dollars  each.  This  was  certainly 
doing  very  well,  and  deprives  him  of  any  excuse  for  over¬ 
working.  One  of  his  friends  writes  in  the  London  Times: 


48 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


“We  can  not  resist  a  melancholy  suspicion  that  if  he 
had  relaxed  a  little  sooner  he  might  have  been  spared  to 
us  longer.  Anxiety,  rather  than  actual  work,  may  have 
been  injurious,  when  he  began  to  grow  nervous  under  the 
strain  of  keeping  engagements  against  time.” 

Not  one  man  in  many  thousands  could  have  lived  his 
life  for  a  single  year  without  destruction.  Nature  had 
given  him  an  admirable  constitution.  He  had  a  sound 
digestion,  tranquil  nerves,  a  cheerful  disposition,  and  a 
taste  for  rural  pleasures.  lie  should  V.Lve  lived  to  “  four 
score  and  upward.” 

America  may  claim  some  property  in  this  gifted  and 
genial  man.  He  used  to  berate  us  soundly  (and  justly, 
too)  for  republishing  his  works  without  paying  him  copy¬ 
right  for  the  same.  I  have  the  impression,  however,  that 
he  owed  his  place  in  the  Post-office,  in  a/,  indirect  way, 
to  the  American  people.  We  have  seen  above  that  as  a 
boy  of  twelve,  he  arrived  with  his  mother  and  sisters,  on 
Christmas  day,  1827,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi,  and 
made  with  them  a  three  years’  tour  of  the  United  States. 
It  is  possible  mat  lie  may  have  assisted  in  the  drawing  of 
the  comic  pictures  with  which  his  mother  enlivened  her 
work  upon  the  “  Domestic  Manners  of  the  Americans,” 
and  doubtless  he  nad  his  share  in  the  numberless  anec¬ 
dotes  that  figure  in  its  pages.  The  youth  escorted  his 
mother  to  some  of  those  “  large  evening  parties  ”  which 
she  describes,  where  there  was  “  no  ecartt,  no  chess,  very 
little  music,  and  that  lamentably  bad,”  and  where  “to  eat 
inconceivable  quantities  of  cake,  ice,  and  pickled  oysters, 
and  to  show  half  their  revenue  in  silks  and  satins,  seemed 
to  be  the  chief  object  of  the  ladies.” 

We  are  sure  that  he  passed,  with  his  mother,  those 
“four  days  of  excitement  and  fatigue  at  Niagara,”  where, 
as  she  says,  “  we  drenched  ourselves  in  spray,  we  cut  our 
feet  on  the  rocks,  we  blistered  our  faces  in  the  sun,  we 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


49 


looked  up  the  cataract  and  down  the  cataract,  we  perched 
ourselves  on  every  pinnacle  we  could  find,  we  dipped  our 
fingers  in  the  flood  at  a  few  yards’  distance  from  its 
thundering  fall.”  In  all  these  delights  the  future  novelist 
had  his  part. 

Let  us  hope,  too,  that  he  shared  with  his  parent  the 
pleasure  she  took  in  the  Hudson  River,  in  Manhattan 
Island,  and  even  in  the  city  of  New  York,  a  city  which 
she  really  seemed  to  enjoy.  At  that  time,  1830,  Man¬ 
hattan  Island  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  suburban, 
regions  in  the  world.  It  was  dotted  all  over  with  pretty 
villas  and  cottages,  and  showed  many  a  stately  mailsion 
on  the  slopes  of  the  two  rivers.  Greenwich,  Blooming- 
dale,  Yorkville,  and  Harlem  were  pleasant  country  vil¬ 
lages.  The  island  was  New  York  and  Newport  in  one. 
Anthony  Trollope  heard  of  these  agreeable  scenes,  and, 
possibly,  shared  the  indignation  of  his  mother  on  being 
charged  by  a  New  York  hackman  two  dollars  and  a  half 
for  a  twenty  minutes’  ride. 

But  how  did  we  render  him  a  pecuniary  benefit  ?  When 
his  mother  published  in  London  her  satirical  work,  it  w’as 
hailed  by  the  enemies  of  republicanism  with  delight.  They 
seem  to  have  felt  that  American  principles  wre re  discredited 
forever.  I  think  it  highly  probable  that  the  son  of  the 
authoress  owed  his  appointment  in  the  Post-office  to  the 
favor  in  which  the  work  was  held  by  the  appointing 
power. 

England  had  not  then  reformed  her  civil  service  so  as 
to  make  appointments  depend  on  the  comparative  merit 
of  applicants.  But  she  has  always  known  enough  to 
retain  in  her  service  men  of  intelligence  and  capacity. 
Having  got  Anthony  Trollope,  she  kept  him  during  all  the 
best  years  of  his  life,  and  then  gave  him  honorable  retire¬ 
ment.  It  was  he  wdio  completed  the  postal  arrangements 
between  this  country  and  Great  Britain,  by  which  it  is 


50 


MRS.  TROLLOPE. 


quite  as  easy,  and  almost  as  cheap,  to  send  a  letter  to 
any  part  of  the  British  empire  as  it  is  from  New  York  to 
Albany. 

That  is  the  substance  of  a  true  civil  service :  first,  get 
a  man,  and  then  keep  him. 

Mrs.  Trollope  died  in  Florence  in  1863,  aged  eighty- 
three  years.  In  private  life  she  was  a  very  friendly  and 
good  soul,  much  admired  and  sought  in  the  society  of 
Florence,  where  she  passed  the  last  twenty  years  of  her 
long  life. 


ADELAIDE  PHILLIPS. 


T  the  tender  age  of  eight  years,  Miss  Phillips  was 


f  \  already  an  actress.  She  never  knew  why  her 
parents  chose  that  profession  for  her,  nor  could  she 
remember  her  first  appearance.  Her  earliest  recollec¬ 
tion  of  the  theatre  dated  back  to  some  play  in  which  she 
was  required  to  jump  out  of  a  window.  She  feared  to 
take  the  leap ;  she  hesitated,  until  an  actor  standing  at 
the  wings  held  up  a  big  orange  before  her  eyes,  an 
inducement  which  she  could  not  resist.  She  jumped, 
was  caught  safely  in  his  arms,  and  received  the  fruit  as 
her  reward. 

Miss  Phillips,  whose  family  ties  all  bound  her  to 
America,  and  the  greater  part  of  whose  professional 
career  was  passed  in  this  country,  scarcely  liked  to 
acknowledge  that  she  was  not  an  American.  She  was 
born  in  England,  at  Stratford-on-Avon,  about  the  year 
1835  ;  her  father  English,  her  mother  Welsh.  When  she 
was  seven  years  of  age  her  family  came  to  America, 
going  first  to  Canada,  and  thence  to  Boston,  where  they 
established  their  home.  It  was  in  this  city  that  the  little 
girl  made  her  ddbnt  in  January,  1842,  appearing  at  the 
Tremont  Theatre  in  the  comedy  of  “  Old  and  Young,” 
in  which  she  was  required  to  personate  five  characters, 
and  introduce  several  songs  and  dances.  A  year  later 
she  joined  the  Boston  Museum  and  amused  the  public 
with  her  representation  of  “  Little  Pickle  ”  in  “  The 
Spoiled  Child,”  and  soon  after  she  was  promoted  to  take 


4 


53 


54 


ADELAIDE  PHILLIPS. 


part  in  a  number  of  fairy  spectacles.  With  the  company 
her  bright  sayings,  her  simple  manners,  and  obliging 
temper  made  her  a  favorite. 

“  They  were  so  kind  to  me,”  she  said  in  later  years  ; 
“  they  took  such  care  of  me,  for  I  was  but  a  child  when 
I  first  appeared  there,  so  much  of  a  child  that  I  used  to 
drive  my  hoop  back  and  forth  to  the  rehearsals.  The 
work  was  play  to  me  ;  I  learned  my  parts  easily  and  was 
petted  and  praised,  which  was  very  pleasant.” 

She  was  so  much  a  child,  too,  that  one  day  she  arrived 
at  the  theatre  crying  so  bitterly  that  for  some  time  she 
was  unable  to  explain  what  was  the  matter.  Her  trouble 
proved  to  be  that  a  beautiful  doll  in  a  shop  window  that 
she  passed  every  day,  a  doll  which  she  had  set  her  heart 
upon  possessing,  had  that  morning  vanished  from  its 
usual  station.  Somebody  else  had  bought  it,  and  Ade¬ 
laide  was  disconsolate.  It  was  long  before  she  could  be 
comforted,  and  her  happiness  was  not  fully  restored  until 
the  good-natured  stage-manager  presented  her  with 
another  doll,  even  prettier  than  the  one  she  had  longed 
for. 

As  she  grew  older  she  had  many  characters  assigned 
her,  and  worked  faithfully  in  her  profession.  A  farce 
always  followed  the  play  in  those  days,  and  she  frequently 
appeared  in  both.  Often,  too,  she  sustained  a  part  in 
fairy  spectacles  such  as  Fair  Star  and  Cinderella — pieces 
in  which  her  graceful  dancing  as  well  as  her  beautiful 
voice  fitted  her  to  shine. 

Never  but  once  did  she  lose  command  of  her  counte¬ 
nance  upon  the  stage,  and  that  was  in  these  early  days  at 
the  Museum. 

“  It  was,”  she  said,  “  in  some  farce  where  Mr.  Warren 
was  shut  up  in  a  pantry  closet,  while  I,  apparently  uncon¬ 
scious  of  the  fact,  was  playing  the  piano  accompaniment 
to  a  song.  He  suddenly  opened  the  door  and  looked  out, 


ADELAIDE  PHILLIPS. 


55 


bis  face  revealing  (hat  lie  had  been  solacing  his  imprison¬ 
ment  by  helping  himself  to  some  of  the  sweetmeats  on 
the  shelves,  and  he  assumed  such  a  look  as  only  he  could 
call  up.  It  was  all  over  with  me  and  my  song ;  fortu¬ 
nately,  the  audience  also  were  too  much  convulsed  with 
laughter  to  notice  my  inability  to  proceed,  until  it  was 
possible  for  the  play  to  go  on.” 

Those  who  have  seen  Mr.  Warren  at  his  funniest  will 
not  wonder  at  Miss  Phillips’  loss  of  self-control. 

When  she  was  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of  age,  her 
parents  and  relatives,  recognizing  I  he  unusual  power  and 
beauty  of  her  voice — a  rich  contralto — decided  that  she 
would  do  wisely  to  leave  the  stage  for  a  time  and  study 
for  the  Italian  opera.  Her  teachers  had  the  utmost  faith 
in  her  success. 

Jenny  Lind  was  then  in  Boston,  and  Adelaide  Phillips 
was  introduced,  and  sang  to  her.  The  next  day  she 
received  a  friendly  letter  in  which  Miss  Lind  recommended 
Emanuel  Garcia,  her  own  instructor,  as  the  most  suitable 
teacher  for  her  young  friend,  and  added  much  wise  and 
kindly  advice  concerning  the  career  to  which  she  aspired. 
Enclosed  in  the  letter  was  a  check  for  a  thousand  dollars. 

In  1852,  Adelaide  Phillips  went  to  London,  and 
remained  there  nearly  two  years  pursuing  her  studies 
under  Garcia.  From  London  she  went  to  Italy,  accom¬ 
panied  by  her  father  and  sister,  that  she  might  better 
acquire  the  Italian  language,  and  receive  the  training  of 
Signor  Profondo  in  operatic  acting.  While  in  Italy  she 
kept  a  journal — a  brief,  business-like  record,  encumbered 
with  very  few  of  the  raptures,  sentiments,  and  gay  non¬ 
sense  that  fill  the  pages  of  most  young  girls’  diaries. 
Here  is  an  extract  from  the  first  entry  : 

“Mr.  Biandi  came  and  asked  me  if  I  wanted  an 
engagement;  he  had  spoken  of  me  to  one  of  the  agents 
who  wanted  a  contralto.  The  agent  came  accordingly. 


56 


ADELAIDE  PHILLIPS. 


I  sang  to  him  ‘  Pcnsa  alia  Patria .’  He  seemocl  very 
much  pleased  with  my  voice.  The  place  is  Brescia,  in 
Lombardy.  They  offer  four  hundred  dollars  a  month  for 
four  months.  The  first  part  to  appear  in,  Arsace.  Papa 
will  give  an  answer  in  a  few  days.  Mr.  Biandi  brought 
me  the  opera  of  Semir amide  and  gave  me  some  good 
ideas.  I  commenced  studying  Arsace.” 

The  offer  thus  mentioned  was  accepted,  and  she  made 
her  debut  at  Brescia.  It  was  customary  that  the  last 
rehearsal  of  an  opera  should  be  in  full  dress,  but  in  a  fit 
of  girlish  obstinacy,  she  refused  to  put  on  the  armor  of 
Arsace  until  the  evening  of  the  performance.  The  direc¬ 
tors  and  musical  critics,  who  were  present  in  force, 
showed  their  displeasure ;  she  retaliated  by  singing 
through  the  part  in  demi-voice.  Her  manager  was  in 
despair,  and  it  certainly  was  a  foolish  thing  for  her  to  do, 
although  she  by  no  means  realized  its  importance.  The 
next  night  the  house  was  crowded,  and  when  she  entered 
as  Arsace,  in  full  armor,  she  was  l’eceived  in  silence.  No 
applause  followed  her  recitative  and  andante,  and  it  was 
not  until,  provoked  by  their  coldness  to  the  utmost  exer¬ 
tion,  she  gave  the  caballetta  with  superb  power  and  pas¬ 
sion,  that  the  audience,  unable  to  resist  longer,  broke  into 
a  tempest  of  cheering.  Her  success  was  complete  and 
triumphant. 

Other  engagements  followed;  then  many  disappoint¬ 
ments.  Whenever  she  sang  she  pleased,  but  she  could 
not  always  find  an  opportunity  to  sing,  and  sometimes 
when  she  did  the  managers  could  not  or  would  not  pay 
her.  Cheers  and  tears  from  the  enthusiastic  Italian  audi¬ 
ences  continued  to  greet  her  wherever  she  Avent,  and 
sonnets  and  flowers  were  showered  upon  the  stage,  but 
money  was  so  difficult  to  obtain  that  in  1855  she  left  Italy 
to  try  her  fortune  again  in  America.  Her  operatic  d6but 
in  this  country  was  made  in  Philadelphia,  once  more  in 


ADELAIDE  PHILLIPS. 


57 


the  part  of  Arsace,  and  was  in  every  way  successful. 
Her  popularity  soon  became  assured.  During  the  next 
few  years  she  visited  all  parts  of  this  country,  and 
appeared  successfully  in  Paris  and  other  European  cities. 
In  Poland  she  was  much  struck  by  the  appearance  of  her 
audience,  all  the  ladies  being  attired  in  black.  They 
were  in  mourning  for  their  country.  In  Cuba,  where  she 
learned  to  speak  Spanish  like  a  native,  she  was  received 
with  a  favor  which  she  reciprocated. 

“  My  greatest  artistic  success,  my  true  appreciation,” 
she  used  to  say,  “was  in  Havana.” 

During  one  of  her  visits  to  Havana  with  an  opera 
troupe,  a  young  girl  of  the  chorus  with  whom  she  had 
made  acquaintance  during  the  voyage,  was  attacked  by 
the  yellow  fever.  Without  a  moment’s  thought  of  her¬ 
self,  Miss  Phillips  went  to  her  and  nursed  her  throughout 
the  whole  of  her  illness.  She  took  the  disease  herself, 
nearly  died  of  it,  lost  all  her  beautiful  hair,  and  was  never 
again  the  strong,  healthy  woman  she  had  been. 

This  was  of  course  an  exceptional  act,  but  her  kindness, 
her  generosity,  and  sympathy  made  her  peculiarly  dear  to 
her  friends.  Her  devotion  to  the  interests  of  her  family 
was  unfailing.  She  was  never  so  happy  as  when  she 
lived  with  her  brothers  and  sisters  in  the  lovely  country 
home  at  Marshfield,  which  she  helped  to  beautify  with  her 
hands  and  her  money.  There  she  loved  to  be,  whenever 
her  arduous  profession  allowed  her  to  rest.  There  sho 
watched  the  growth  of  fruit  and  flowers,  spent  half  her 
days  out  of  doors,  and  enjoyed  the  society  of  half  a  dozen 
favorite  dogs.  There,  too,  she  gave  occasional  entertain¬ 
ments,  when  her  beautiful  voice,  her  powers  of  mimicry, 
and  her  rare  talent  as  a  story  teller,  were  all  called  into 
play  to  charm  her  guests.  Although  her  heart  was  in 
this  quiet  country  place,  and  the  constant  activity  and 
frequent  journeys  which  her  engagements  necessitated 


58 


ADELAIDE  PHILLIPS. 


wore  often  distasteful  to  her,  she  held  her  profession  in 
honor,  and  loyally  resented  all  imputations  cast  upon  it. 

“  The  actual  work  behind  the  scenes,”  she  used  to  say, 
“  leaves  no  time  for  the  sort  of  things  people  imagine  ;  we 
are  too  busy,  often  too  anxious,  to  attend  to  anything  but 
our  parts.  The  heroes  and  the  heroines  of  the  opera  are 
seldom  the  lovers  they  enact ;  often  quite  the  reverse.” 

Nor  did  she  undervalue  the  applause  of  the  public.  It 
was  most  welcome  toiler,  and  she  labored  with  scrupulous 
fidelity  to  deserve  it,  taking  infinite  pains  with  little  things 
as  well  as  great,  never  for  a  moment  inattentive  or  care¬ 
less.  She  learned  from  an  officer  in  the  army  the  best  way 
tj  sheathe  her  sword,  and  for  many  other  such  details  she 
sought  out  and  consulted  those  who  she  thought  would 
be  able  to  instruct  her. 

The  praise  she  most  enjoyed,  however,  was  that  of  her 
friends ;  and  the  most  precious  tribute  to  her  powers  was 
not  that  of  the  critics.  She  always  looked  back  with 
peculiar  pride  to  one  evening  at  an  entertainment  in  a 
fashionable  house  in  New  York,  when  she  sang  “  Kathleen 
Mavourneen  ”  to  a  large  company.  While  she  was  singing 
a  young  Irish  serving  maid  entered  the  room  with  a  tray 
in  her  hand,  and  was  so  overcome  with  emotion,  that  for¬ 
getting  her  duties  and  her  deportment  alike,  she  sank 
down  in  a  chair  and  burst  into  tears.  At  another  time, 
at  a  hotel  in  the  mountains,  where  Miss  Phillips  had 
refused  to  sing  in  public,  having  gone  there  in  search  of 
rest,  she  was  found  seated  in  the  kitchen  surrounded 
by  guides  and  servants,  all  crying  heartily  at  her  pathetic 
singing  of  “  Auld  Robin  Gray.” 

The  same  magnetic  power  that  characterized  her  sing¬ 
ing  was  exerted  by  her  voice  in  speaking,  when  she  chose 
to  coax  or  command.  Its  influence  was  once  acknowl¬ 
edged  by  a  naughty  little  girl,  who,  having  successfully 
resisted  her  parents  and  relatives,  came  and  seated  herseif 
meekly  at  Miss  Phillips’  feet,  saying: 


ADELAIDE  PHILLIPS. 


59 


“  You  have  made  me  good,  though  I  did  not  mean  you 
should.” 

Miss  Phillips  -worked  excessively  hard,  and  after  her 
health  began  to  give  way  she  kept  on  too  long.  She  went 
abroad  with  her  sister  in  1882,  hoping  that  restand  change 
would  restore  her.  It  was  too  late  ;  she  died  at  Carlsbad, 
October  3,  1882,  not  fifty  years  of  age.  She  lies  buried 
in  the  cemetery  at  Marshfield  in  Massachusetts,  near  the 
grave  of  Daniel  Webster.  She  was  a  conscientious  artist 
and  high-principled,  too  generous  woman.  There  is  per¬ 
haps  no  vocation  so  arduous  as  hers,  for  a  public  singer, 
besides  serving  an  exacting,  fastidious,  inconsiderate,  and 
capricious  master,  the  public,  is  also  a  slave  to  her  voice. 
She  rests  in  peace  after  a  life  of  arduous  toil,  and  her 
memory  is  dear  to  many  who  knew  her  worth.* 

*  Adelaide  Bliiltips,  a  Heeorii.  By  Mrs,  li.  (J.  Waterston.  Boston, 


TWO  QUEENS.  THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  JAMES  II  OF 
ENGLAND. 


T  is  interesting  to  turn  over  a  chestful  of  old  family 


1  letters  stored  away  in  a  garret  which  has  been  closed, 
perhaps,  for  a  century.  There  is  a  lady  living  in  Holland 
called  the  Countess  of  Bentinct,  who  has  long  possessed 
a  rare  treasure  of  this  kind,  a  box  of  old  letters  -written 
by  James  II  of  England  and  his  two  daughters,  Mary 
and  Anne,  both  of  whom  reigned  after  their  father  lost 
his  crown  by  turning  Catholic.  Recently,  the  Countess 
of  Bentinct  has  published  these  letters  in  Holland,  and 
now  all  the  world  can  read  what  these  royal  personages 
thought  in  the  crisis  of  their  fate,  in  the  very  years  (1G87 
and  1688)  when  James  was  estranging  all  his  Protestant 
subjects,  and  when  his  daughters,  Mary  of  Orange  and 
the  Princess  Anne,  were  looking  on  and  watching  the  events 
which  were  to  call  them  to  the  throne  of  Great  Britain. 

The  Princess  Mary,  a  beautiful  woman  twenty-six  years 
of  age,  was  then  living  in  Holland  in  the  palace  of  her 
husband,  William,  Prince  of  Orange,  whom  she  devot¬ 
edly  loved.  The  Princess  Anne,  married  to  a  son  of  the 
King  of  Denmark,  lived  in  England.  Both  sisters,  if  we 
may  judge  by  their  letters,  were  warmly  attached  to  the 
Church  of  England.  Nevertheless,  upon  reading  Mary’s 
letters,  some  uncharitable  persons  might  use  the  language 
of  Shakespeare  and  say,  “  The  lady  doth  protest  too 
much.”  As  to  the  King,  her  father,  he  gave  proof  of  his 
sincerity  by  sacrificing  his  throne  to  his  convictions. 
The  first  letter  of  importance  in  this  collection  is  one 


60 


THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  JAMES  II  OF  ENGLAND. 


6l 


written  by  James  II  to  his  eldest  daughter  Mary,  giving 
her,  in  compliance  with  her  request,  the  reasons  why  he 
had  changed  his  religion.  This  letter  was  written  Novem¬ 
ber  4, 1687,  about  a  year  before  William  of  Orange  invaded 
England  and  seized  the  crown. 

“  I  must  tell  you  first,”  wrote  the  King,  “  that  I  was 
brought  up  very  strictly  in  the  English  Church  by  Dr. 
Stuart,  to  whom  the  King,  my  father,  gave  particular 
instructions  to  that  end,  and  I  was  so  zealous  that  when 
the  Queen,  my  mother,  tried  to  rear  my  brother,  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester,  in  the  Catholic  religion,  I  did  my 
utmost  (preserving  always  the  respect  due  her)  to  keep 
him  firm  in  his  first  principles,  and  as  young  people  often 
do,  I  thought  it  was  a  point  of  honor  to  be  firmly  attached 
to  the  sentiments  in  which  I  was  reared.” 

He  proceeds  to  tell  her  that,  after  the  dethronement 
of  his  father,  Charles  I,  and  all  the  time  he  lived  an  exile 
in  foreign  countries,  no  Catholic  ever  attempted  to  con¬ 
vert  him ;  and  he  assures  her  that  his  change  of  faith 
began  within  himself.  The  first  thing  that  attracted  his 
attention,  he  tells  his  daughter,  was  the  great  devotion 
that  he  remarked  among  Catholics  of  all  ranks  and  con¬ 
ditions,  and  the  frequent  reformation  of  Catholic  young 
men  who  had  previously  been  dissolute. 

“  I  observed  also,”  he  says,  “  the  becoming  manner  of 
their  public  worship,  their  churches  so  well  adorned,  and 
the  great  charities  which  they  maintained  ;  all  of  which 
made  me  begin  to  have  a  better  opinion  of  their  religion, 
and  compelled  me  to  enquire  into  it  more  carefully.” 

Having  reached  this  point,  he  began  to  study  the  doc¬ 
trines  in  dispute,  as  they  were  presented  in  well-known 
books,  and  particularly  in  the  New  Testament,  which,  he 
says,  plainly  reveals  “  an  infallible  Church,”  against 
which  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail.  This  was 
his  main  position,  which  he  fortified  by  quoting  the  usual 


62 


THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  JAMES  II  OF  ENGLAND. 


tests.  He  writes  on  this  subject  at  great  length  to  his 
daughter,  and  it  is  impossible  to  doubt  that  he  gave  utter¬ 
ance  to  what  he  really  believed  and  warmly  felt.  All 
these  letters,  I  should  explain,  are  written  in  the  French 
language,  which  had  probably  been  the  language  of  the 
family  since  the  time  of  their  ancestor,  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots,  great-grandmother  to  James  II.  Princess  Mary 
kept  even  her  private  diary  in  French,  wrote  to  her  sister 
Anne  in  French,  and  probably  knew  the  French  language 
much  better  than  she  did  the  English.  In  the  public 
library  at  the  Hague  there  is  a  splendid  English  Bible, 
which  was  handed  to  her  when  she  was  crowned  Queen 
in  Westminster  Abbey,  on  the  title-page  of  which  are 
these  words,  in  her  own  hand  : 

“  This  book  was  given  the  king  and  I  at  our  coronation. 
Marie  R.” 

Her  French  is  better  than  this,  and  even  the  spelling 
is  no  worse  than  was  common  among  educated  French 
ladies  of  that  period.  She  answered  the  King’s  letter  at 
inordinate  length,  and  employed  all  the  forms  of  respect 
then  used  towards  monarchs,  beginning  her  letter  with 
“  Sire,”  and  always  addressing  her  father  as  “  V.  M.,” 
which  signifies  Votre  Majeste.  She  showed  a  good  deal 
of  skill  and  tact  in  meeting  his  arguments,  and  it  is 
possible  that  she  had  the  aid  of  some  learned  doctor  of 
divinity.  Upon  the  question  of  the  infallibility  of  the 
Roman  Church,  she  says  : 

“  1  have  never  understood  that  it  has  been  decided, 
even  by  Catholics  themselves,  whether  this  infallibility 
rests  in  the  Pope  alone,  or  in  a  General  Council,  or  in 
both  together ;  and  I  hope  Your  Majesty  will  be  willing 
to  permit  me  to  ask  where  it  was  when  there  were  three 
popes  at  once,  each  of  whom  had  his  Council  called  General, 
and  when  all  the  popes  thundered  anathemas  against  one 
another  ?  ” 


THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  JAMES  II  OF  ENGLAND. 


63 


She  argued  this  point  at  considerable  length,  because, 
as  she  remarked,  “  if  the  infallibility  be  conceded,  every 
other  claim  follows  as  a  matter  of  course.”  The  King 
ordered  his  ambassador  to  Holland  to  supply  the  Princess 
with  the  best  Catholic  books,  in  which  the  points  of  differ¬ 
ence  were  treated  by  theologians.  This  command  was 
obeyed,  and  the  Princess  dutifully  read  some  of  them,  and 
wrote  her  opinion  of  them  to  her  father.  She  would 
have  made  a  very  good  reviewer,  so  apt  w'as  she  to  seize 
the  weak  places  of  a  book.  One  of  the  Catholic  authors 
remarked  that  people  could  never  bo  convinced  by  insults 
and  violence. 

“  I  must  believe,  then,”  said  she,  “that  the  first  edition 
of  his  book  was  published  before  the  King  of  France 
(Louis  X1Y)  began  to  convert  people  by  fiis  dragoons, 
since  toward  the  end  of  his  work  lie  gives  high  praise  to 
that  king.” 

The  same  author  objected  to  the  circulation  of  the 
Bible  on  the  ground  that  “  women  and  ignorant  people  ” 
could  not  understand  it.  Without  stopping  to  remark 
upon  the  contemptuous  allusion  to  the  intellect  of  her  sex, 
she  observes,  in  reply,  that  “  our  souls  are  as  precious  in 
the  eyes  of  God  as  the  wisest,  for  before  Him  there  is 
no  respect  of  persons.”  And,  besides,  as  she  continues  : 

“  God  requires  of  each  person  according  to  what  he  has, 
and  not  according  to  wdiat  he  has  not ;  through  His  mercy 
He  has  left  us  a  written  Word  which  is  clear  and  exact.” 

She  also  quoted  the  texts  relied  on  by  Protestants,  such 
as,  “  Search  the  Scriptures,”  and  others  ;  showing  a  sur¬ 
prising  familiarity  with  the  controversies  of  the  time, 
which  indeed  were  to  her  and  her  sister  of  the  most 
vital  interest.  More  than  a  crown  was  at  stake.  If  their 
father  held  on  his  course,  Mary  might  at  any  moment 
be  called  upon  to  fill  a  vacant  throne,  or  be  the  nominal 
head  of  a  rebellion  against  her  own  father.  Anne,  mean- 


64  THE  DAUGHTEHS  OF  JAMES  II  OF  ENGLAND. 

while,  was  full  of  anxiety  and  apprehension.  It  was  her 
cruel  fate  to  become  the  mother  of  seventeen  children, 
all  of  whom  died  in  childhood ;  so  that  for  many  years 
she  lived  in  almost  continual  anxiety,  each  child  bringing 
new  hopes,  which  were  soon  changed  to  apprehension  and 
despair.  At  this  very  time  she  wrote  to  her  sister  from 
her  palace  in  London,  called  the  Cockpit : 

“  I  cannot  say  half  of  what  I  wish  because  I  am  obliged 
to  return  immediately  to  my  poor  child,  for  I  am  more 
anxious  when  I  am  absent  from  her.” 

It  was  nearly  twenty  years  before  she  ceased  to  hope. 
All  her  children  perished  in  infancy  except  one,  who 
lived  to  be  eleven  years  old ;  so  that  the  sentence  just 
quoted  represents  a  great  part  of  the  history  of  her 
married  life.  In  October,  1688,  William,  Prince  of 
Orange,  with  a  fleet  of  six  hundred  vessels,  sailed  for 
England,  leaving  his  wife  in  Holland  to  pray  for  his  suc¬ 
cess.  She  relates  in  her  diary  the  manner  of  their  part¬ 
ing,  which  was  certainly  peculiar. 

“In  case,”  said  the  Prince,  “it  pleases  God  that  I 
never  more  see  you,  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  marry 
again.” 

These  words,  she  says,  surprised  her  and  rent  her 
heart. 

“  There  is  no  need,”  continued  the  Prince,  “for  me  to 
tell  you  not  to  marry  a  Papist.” 

On  uttering  these  words  he  burst  into  tears,  and  as 
soon  as  he  could  command  his  voice  he  assured  her  that 
it  was  only  his  anxiety  for  the  reformed  religion  which 
made  him  speak  as  he  had  done.  She  did  not  know  what 
to  reply.  But  at  last  she  said : 

“  I  have  never  loved  any  one  but  you,  and  should  not 
know  how  to  love  another.  Besides,  as  I  have  been 
married  so  many  years  without  having  the  blessing  of  a 
child,  I  believe  that  that  is  sufficient  to  exempt  me  from 
ever  thinking  of  what  you  propose.” 


THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  JAMES  II  OF  ENGLAND.  65 

t 

She  accompanied  the  Prince  to  his  ship  and  saw  the 
fleet  set  sail.  A  month  passed  before  she  heard  news  of 
him,  during  which  she  spent  most  of  her  time  in  public 
and  private  prayers,  as  did  also  all  her  court,  and  a  great 
number  of  the  people  of  Holland. 

“  Every  morning,”  she  records,  “I  attended  the  French 
prayers  which  were  held  in  my  own  house.  At  noon,  I 
joined  in  the  English  prayers ;  and  at  five  in  the  after¬ 
noon,  I  attended  church  to  hear  a  sermon  ;  at  half-past 
seven  in  the  evening,  I  was  present  at  evening  prayers. 
All  this  I  did  constantly,  God  by  His  grace  giving  mo 
health  to  be  able  to  do  it.  Every  Friday  we  had  a  par¬ 
ticular  solemnity  in  my  house,  where  I  then  had  an  Eng¬ 
lish  sermon  preached.  But  my  enemy,  the  devil,  found 
means  to  stir  up  within  me  scruples  and  fears,  causing 
mo  to  apprehend  that  by  all  these  public  devotions  I  was 
attracting  the  praises  of  men,  and  that  that  would  excite 
my  vanity.  I  feared  also  that  if  I  should  abstain  from 
them  and  remain  at  home,  I  should  not  give  them  that 
good  example  and  encouragement  to  devotion  which  was 
my  duty  in  the  rank  in  which  it  had  pleased  God  to  place 
me.  Hence,  whether  I  went  to  prayers  or  abstained, 
1  saw  something  to  fear.  Nevertheless,  thanks  be  to 
God,  I  resolved  to  do  my  duty  without  troubling  myself 
as  to  the  consequences.” 

During  that  month  of  suspense,  the  Princess  received 
no  company.  When  at  length  she  was  assured  that  her 
husband  had  made  a  safe  landing,  she  resumed  her  recep¬ 
tions,  four  days  in  the  week,  at  which,  however,  as  she 
herself  records,  “  I  did  not  play  at  cards.”  A  young 
lady  has  seldom  been  so  cruelly  situated  as  she  was  then  ; 
her  husband  having  invaded  the  dominions  of  her  father 
with  the  deliberate  intention  to  drive  him  from  his  throne 
and  country.  It  is  evident  from  these  letters  that  she 
had  no  scruples  of  conscience  in  the  matter,  but  gave  all 


66 


THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  JAMES  II  OF  ENGLAND. 


her  heart  and  approval  to  her  husband.  She  opposed  her 
father,  not  merely  because  he  was  a  Catholic,  but  wished 
to  make  England  Catholic.  She  believed  that  he  was 
trying  to  pass  off  upon  the  people  of  England  a  spurious 
child,  who  would  continue  the  work  which  he  had  begun, 
and  fasten  upon  Great  Britain  a  line  of  Catholic  kings. 

Success  rewarded  the  efforts  of  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
and  in  a  few  weeks  Mary  joined  him  in  England.  In 
April,  1689,  William  and  Mary  were  crowned  at  West¬ 
minster  Abbey,  King  and  Queen  of  England.  As  she  was 
not  merely  Queen  by  right  of  marriage,  but  by  right  of 
birth,  she  was  crowned  in  all  respects  as  a  monarch,  being 
girt  with  a  sword,  placed  upon  the  throne,  and  presented 
with  a  Bible,  a  pair  of  spurs,  and  a  small  globe. 

|  The  gracious  manners  of  Queen  Mary,  her  pronounced 
piety,  and  her  noble  presence  went  far  towards  reconcil¬ 
ing  the  people  to  the  ungenial  demeanor  of  her  husband. 
It  was  she  who  introduced  into  England  the  taste  for 
collecting  china,  which  has  been  often  since  revived,  and 
wnich  prevails  even  at  this  day.  She  continued  to  write 
letters  to  her  old  friends  in  Holland,  and  to  make  entries 
into  her  diary,  some  of  which  are  printed  in  the  volume 
under  consideration.  Her  husband  did  not  find  Ireland 
so  easy  to  conquer  as  England,  and  it  was  not  till  the 
summer  of  1691  that  the  Catholic  Irish  were  finally  sub¬ 
dued.  When  the  news  of  victory  reached  England,  the 
churches  opened,  and  the  people  thronged  to  them  to  offer 
thanks  to  God.  Queen  Mary,  at  the  Palace  of  Kensing¬ 
ton,  wrote  thus  in  her  diary  : 

“  What  thanks  ought  I  to  render,  0  my  soul,  to  thy 
Lord  for  all  His  bounties  ?  They  are  indeed  new  every 
morning,  and  I  can  well  say :  it  is  of  thy  mercy,  0  Lord, 
that  we  are  not  consumed,  for  Thy  mercy  enduretli  for¬ 
ever.  But  what  are  we,  thy  poor  sinful  people  of  this 
country,  what  is  my  husband,  and  what  am  I,  that  we 


THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  JAMES  II  07  ENGLAND.  67 

should  receive  so  many  favors  ?  0  my  God,  to  thee  be  all 

the  glory  !  May  we  learn  to  humble  ourselves  truly 
before  Him,  and  may  all  those  poor  people  in  Ireland,  as 
well  as  ourselves  here,  being  delivered  from  our  enemies, 
serve  Thee  in  holiness  and  justice  all  the  days  of  our 
lives !  ” 

Queen  Mary  did  not  long  enjoy  her  royal  state.  At 
the  early  age  of  thirty-two,  in  the  very  bloom  and  lustre 
of  her  maturity,  she  was  seized  with  small-pox,  and  died 
in  a  few  days.  The  King,  her  husband,  was  led,  almost 
insensible,  from  the  chamber  of  death,  and  when  he 
died,  eight  years  after,  a  gold  ring,  containing  a  lock  of 
Mary’s  hair,  was  found  next  to  ais  person  suspended  by 
a  black  silk  ribbon.  The  childless  Anne  then  succeeded 
to  the  throne.  So  much  for  this  box  of  royal  letters, 
now  opened  for  the  first  time  in  this  country. 


AN  EVENING  WITH  RACHEL. 


T  was  the  evening  of  May  29, 1839,  when  this  suppef 


I  occurred,  of  "which  the  reader,  after  the  lapse  of 
thirty-eight  years,  is  invited  to  partake.  Mademoiselle 
Rachel  had  performed  in  Voltaire’s  tragedy  of  “  Tancr&de” 
to  a  crowded  and  enraptured  audience,  for  she  was  then 
in  the  flush  of  her  first  celebrity,  only  eleven  months 
having  elapsed  since  her  first  appearance  in  classic 
tragedy. 

The  real  name  of  this  “  sublime  child,”  as  the  French 
poets  love  to  style  her,  was  Elizabeth  Rachel  Felix,  and 
she  was  born  in  Switzerland,  the  daughter  of  a  Jewish 
peddler.  In  her  early  days  she  used  to  sing  in  the  cafes 
of  Paris,  accompanying  herself  on  an  old  guitar.  She 
was  about  eleven  years  of  age  when  her  voice  caught  the 
ear  of  one  cf  the  founders  of  the  Royal  Conservatory  of 
Music,  who  placed  her  in  one  of  its  classes,  and  agreed 
to  defray  the  expenses  of  her  education.  Her  voice  not 
proving  to  be  as  promising  as  her  benefactor  imagined,  he 
procured  an  admission  for  her  into  a  declamation  class, 
where  her  wonderful  talent  was  trained  and  developed. 

She  made  her  first  appearance  at  the  Theatre  Fran^ais, 
in  September,  1838,  and  she  was  speedily  accepted  as  the 
first  actress  of  the  age.  The  fortunes  of  the  theater, 
which  had  been  at  the  lowest  ebb,  were  restored,  and  her 
father  demanded  for  her,  and  in  time  obtained,  a  revenue 
of  eighty  thousand  francs  per  annum. 

It  was  a  night,  as  I  have  just  said,  of  Voltaire’s 


68 


AN  EVENING  WITH  RACHEL. 


69 


“  TancrMc,”  in  which  she  played  the  part  of  the  heroine, 
Amenaide ,  the  beloved  of  Tancrede ,  a  part  in  which  she 
produced  thrilling  effects.  In  the  audience,  on  that  occa¬ 
sion,  sat  Alfred  de  Musset,  one  of  the  most  admired  of 
recent  French  poets,  who  had  been  for  some  time  a  friend 
of  the  new  actress  and  of  her  family,  as  well  as  one  of 
the  warmest  appreciators  of  her  genius.  At  the  end  of 
an  act  he  went  behind  the  scenes  to  compliment  her  upon 
the  beauty  and  fitness  of  her  costume.  Toward  the  close 
of  the  play  she  was  to  read  a  letter  from  her  lover, 
mortally  wounded  upon  the  field  of  battle,  who  was  dying 
under  the  impression  that  she  had  betrayed  him.  The 
letter  runs  thus : 

“  I  could  not  survive  your  perfidy.  I  die  on  the  battle¬ 
field,  but  I  die  of  wounds  inflicted  by  you.  I  wished, 
cruel  woman,  in  exposing  myself  for  you,  to  save  at  once 
your  glory  and  your  life.” 

Never  before  had  she  read  this  letter  with  such  tender 
pathos ;  and  she  said  afterwards  that  she  had  been  moved 
to  such  a  degree  herself,  that  she  could  scarcely  go  on 
with  the  part.  At  ten  o’clock  the  play  ended,  for  a 
French  tragedy  only  lasts  about  an  hour  and  a  half.  De 
Musset  on  leaving  the  theater  met  her  by  chance  in  the 
street,  going  home  with  one  of  her  friends,  and  followed 
by  a  crowd  of  her  special  admirers,  members  of  the  press, 
artists,  and  others.  The  poet  saluted  her,  and  she 
responded  by  saying : 

“  Come  home  to  supper  with  us.” 

So  he  joined  the  throng,  and  they  were  soon  all  seated 
in  her  parlor — Rachel,  her  sister  Sarah,  their  mother, 
Alfred  de  Musset,  and  several  others.  The  events  of  the 
evening  were  afterwards  recorded  by  the  poet,  as  he  says, 
“  with  the  exactness  of  shorthand,”  and  the  narrative 
has  been  published  since  his  death  in  a  volume  of  his 
last  writings  and  familiar  letters.  After  some  trifling 


70 


AN  EVENING  WITH  RACHEL. 


conversation,  Rachel  discovered  that  she  had  left  her 
rings  and  bracelets  at  the  theater,  and  she  sent  her  ser¬ 
vant  back  for  them.  But  she  had  only  one  servant,  and, 
behold !  there  was  no  one  to  get  the  supper  ready. 
Rachel,  nothing  abashed,  took  off  some  of  her  finery,  put 
on  a  dressing  sacque  and  night  cap,  and  went  into  the 
kitchen.  Fifteen  minutes  passed.  She  reappeared,  “  as 
pretty  as  an  angel,”  carrying  a  dish  in  which  were  three 
beefsteaks  cooked  by  herself.  She  placed  the  dish  in  the 
middle  of  the  table,  and  gaily  said : 

“  Regale !  ” 

She  then  went  back  to  the  kitchen  and  returned  with 
a  tureen  of  smoking  soup  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other 
a  saucepan  full  of  spinach.  That  was  the  supper.  No 
plates,  no  spoons ;  for  the  servant  had  carried  away  the 
keys  of  the  cupboard.  Rachel  opened  the  sideboard, 
found  a  salad  dish  full  of  salad,  discovered  one  plate,  took 
some  salad  with  the  wooden  salad  spoon,  sat  down  and 
began  to  eat. 

“  But,”  cried  her  mother,  who  was  very  hungry,  “  there 
are  some  brass  platters  in  the  kitchen.” 

Rachel  dutifully  brought  them  and  distributed  them 
among  the  guests ;  and  while  they  were  eating,  as  best 
they  could,  the  following  conversation  took  place : 

Mother — My  dear,  your  steaks  are  overdone. 

Rachel — It  is  true  ;  they  arc  as  hard  as  wood.  "When 
I  did  our  housekeeping  I  was  a  better  cook.  It  is  one 
talent  the  less.  No  matter ;  I  have  lost  on  one  side,  but 
I  have  gained  on  the  other.  You  don’t  eat,  Sarah. 

Sarah — No,  I  cannot  eat  from  brass  plates. 

Rachel — Oh!  It  is  since  I  bought  a  dozen  silver  plates 
with  my  savings  that  you  can  no  longer  endure  brass! 
If  I  become  richer,  you  will  want  one  servant  behind  your 
chair  and  another  before  it.  Never  will  I  turn  those  old 
platters  out  of  our  house.  They  have  served  us  too  long 
for  that.  Haven’t  they,  mother? 


AN  EVENING  WITH  IIACIIEL. 


71 


Mother  (Jicr  mouth  full) — What  do  you  say,  child  ? 

Rachel  (to  the  poet ) — Just  think;  when  I  played  at 
the  Theater  Moliere,  I  had  only  two  pairs  of  stockings, 
and  every  morning — 

Here  Sarah  began  to  gabble  German,  in  order  to  pre¬ 
vent  her  sister  from  going  on  Avith  her  story. 

Rachel — No  German  here!  There  is  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of!  I  had,  I  say,  only  two  pairs  cf  stockings, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  wash  one  pair  every  morning  to 
wear  on  the  stage.  That  pair  was  hanging  in  my  room 
upon  a  clothes  horse,  while  I  Avore  the  other  pair. 

The  Poet — And  you  did  the  housekeeping? 

Rachel — I  Avas  up  at  six  every  morning,  and  by  eight 
all  the  beds  were  made.  Then  I  AArcnt  to  market  to  buy 
our  dinner. 

The  Poet — And  did  you  keep  a  little  change  out  cf  the 
market  money  ? 

Rachel — No.  I  was  a  very  honest  cook.  Was  I  not, 
mother  ? 

Mother  ( still  stuffing') — 0,  yes  ;  that  you  were  indeed. 

Rachel — Once  only  I  Avas  a  thief  for  a  month.  When 
I  bought  four  sous’  worth,  I  called  it  five,  and  when  I 
paid  ten  sous  I  put  it  down  twelve.  At  the  end  of  the 
month  I  found  myself  mistress  of  three  francs. 

The  Poet  (in  a  severe  tone ) — Mademoiselle,  what  did 
you  do  Avith  those  three  francs  ? 

Rachel  was  silent. 

Mother — She  bought  the  works  of  Moliere  with  them. 

The  Poet — Did  you,  really  ? 

Rachel — Yes,  indeed.  I  had  already  a  Corneille  and  a 
Racine;  I  had  to  haA’c  a  Moliere.  I  bought  it  Avith  my 
three  francs,  and  then  I  confessed  my  crimes. 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation  some  of  the  company 
rose  to  go,  and  soon  all  the  guests  departed,  except  De 
Musset,  and  two  or  three  intimate  friends.  The  servant 


7  2 


AN  EVENING  WITH  RACHEL. 


returned  from  the  theater  and  placed  upon  the  table  some 
brilliant  rings,  two  magnificent  bracelets  and  a  golden 
coronet,  many  thousand  francs’  worth  of  jewelry,  all  glit¬ 
tering  in  the  midst  of  the  brass  plates  and  the  remains  of 
the  supper.  The  poet,  meanwhile,  startled  at  the  idea  of 
her  keeping  house,  working  in  the  kitchen,  making  beds, 
and  undergoing  the  fatigues  incident  to  poverty,  looked 
at  her  hands,  fearing  to  find  them  ugly  or  spoiled.  He 
observed,  on  the  contrary,  that  they  were  small,  white, 
and  plump,  with  the  slenderest  fingers.  She  had  the 
hands  of  a  princess. 

Her  sister  Sarah,  who  did  not  cat,  continued  to  scold 
in  German.  That  morning,  indeed,  she  had  been  guilty 
of  some  escapade  a  little  too  far  from  the  maternal  wing, 
and  she  had  obtained  her  pardon  and  her  place  at  the 
table  only  in  consequence  of  her  sister’s  entreaties. 

Rachel  ( replying  to  the  German  growls') — You  plague 
me!  For  my  part,  I  like  to  recall  my  youth.  I  remem¬ 
ber  that  one  day  I  wanted  to  make  some  punch  in  one  of 
these  very  brass  plates.  I  held  my  plate  over  a  candle, 
and  it  melted  in  my  hand.  Speaking  of  that,  Sophie, 
bring  mo  some  cherry  brandy.  Let  us  have  some  punch. 
There  !  1  have  had  enough.  I  have  done  my  supper. 

The  maid  returned,  bringing  a  bottle. 

M other — Sophie  has  made  a  mistake.  That  is  a  bottle 
of  absinthe. 

The  Poet — Give  me  a  little  of  it. 

Rachel — 0,  how  glad  I  should  be  to  have  you  take  some¬ 
thing  in  our  house. 

Mother — They  say  that  absinthe  is  very  wholesome. 

The  Poet — Not  at  all.  It  is  pernicious  and  detestable. 

Sarah — Then  why  do  you  ask  for  some  ? 

The  Poet — In  order  to  have  it  to  say  that  I  took  some¬ 
thing  here. 

Rachel-— I  wish  to  drink  a  little  of  it. 


AN  EVENING  WITH  RACHEL. 


73 


So  saying,  she  poured  some  absinthe  into  a  glass  of 
water  and  drank  it.  They  brought  her  a  silver  bowl,  into 
which  she  put  sugar  and  cherry  brandy,  after  which  she 
set  fire  to  her  punch,  and  made  it  blaze. 

Rachel — I  love  that  blue  flame. 

The  Poet — It  is  much  prettier  when  there  is  no  light  in 
the  room. 

Rachel — Sophie,  take  away  the  candles. 

Mother — Not  at  all ;  not  at  all!  What  an  idea  ! 

Rachel  ( aside ) — This  is  unsupportable  !  Pardon,  dear 
mother;  you  are  good,  you  are  charming  (kissing  her)  ; 
but  I  want  Sophie  to  carry  away  the  candles. 

Upon  this,  the  poet  himself  took  the  two  candles  and 
put  them  under  the  table,  which  produced  the  effect  of 
twilight.  The  mother,  by  turns  green  and  blue  from  the 
glimmer  of  the  blazing  punch,  leveled  her  eves  upon  Pe 
Musset,  and  watched  all  his  movements.  He  put  the 
candles  back  upon  the  table. 

A  Flatterer — Mademoiselle  Rabat  was  not  beautiful 
this  evening. 

The  Poet — You  are  hard  to  please.  I  thought  her 
pretty  enough. 

Another  Flatterer — She  has  no  intelligence. 

Rachel — Why  do  you  say  that  ?  She  is  not  so  stupid 
as  many  others  ;  and,  besides,  she  is  a  good  girl.  Let 
her  alone.  I  do  not  like  to  have  my  comrades  spoken  of 
in  that  way. 

The  punch  was  ready.  Rachel  filled  the  glasses  and 
handed  them  about  to  the  company.  She  poured  the  rest 
of  the  punch  into  a  soup  plate,  and  began  to  drink  it  with 
a  spoon.  Then  she  took  the  poet’s  cane,  drew  the  sword 
from  it,  and  picked  her  teeth  with  the  point. 

Here  ended,  for  that  evening,  all  common  talk  and 
child’s  play.  A  single  word  sufficed  to  change  the  char¬ 
acter  of  the  scene,  and  to  convert  this  unformed  child 
into  an  artist. 


74 


AN  EVENING  WITH  RACHEI 


The  Poet — How  you  read  that  letter,  this  evening! 
You  were  really  moved. 

Rachel — Yes  ;  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  something  within 
me  was  going  to  give  way.  But  it  is  no  matter  ;  I  do 
not  like  that  piece  much.  It  is  false. 

The  Poet — Do  you  prefer  the  plays  of  Corneille  and 
Racine  ? 

Rachel — I  like  Corneille  very  much  ;  and  yet,  he  is 
sometimes  trivial,  sometimes  bombastic.  He  comes  short 
of  the  truth. 

The  Poet — 0  !  gently,  mademoiselle! 

Rachel — Let  us  see.  When  in  Horace,  for  example, 
Sabine  says :  “  One  can  change  a  lover,  but  not  a  hus¬ 
band  ;  ”  well,  I  don’t  like  it.  It  is  gross. 

The  Poet — You  will  confess,  at  least,  that  it  is  true. 

Rachel — Yes  ;  but  is  it  worthy  of  Corneille  ?  Talk  to 
me  of  Racine !  There  is  a  man  I  adore !  All  that  he 
says  is  so  beautiful,  so  true,  so  noble. 

The  Poet — Speaking  of  Racine,  do  you  remember 
receiving  some  time  ago  an  anonymous  letter  which  gave 
you  advice  respecting  the  last  scene  in  “  Mithridate  ”  ? 

Rachel — Perfectly  ;  I  followed  the  advice  given  me,  and 
ever  since  I  have  always  been  applauded  in  that  scene. 
Do  you  know  the  person  that  wrote  to  me  ? 

The  Poet — Very  well ;  she  is  the  woman  in  all  Paris 
who  has  the  greatest  mind  and  the  smallest  foot.  What 
part  are  you  studying  now  ? 

Rachel — We  are  going  to  play  this  summer,  “  Marie 
Stuart,”  and  afterwards,  “  Polyeucte,”  and,  perhaps — 

The  Poet — Well  ? 

Rachel  ( striking  the  table ) — Well,  I  wish  to  play 
Phedre !  They  tell  me  I  am  too  young,  that  1  am  too 
thin,  and  a  hundred  other  follies.  I  simply  reply  :  It  is 
the  most  beautiful  role  of  Racine ;  I  aspire  to  play  it. 

Sarah — My  dear,  perhaps  you  are  wrong. 


AN  EVENING  WITH  RACHEL. 


7  5 


Rachel — Never  mind !  If  people  think  that  I  am  too 
young,  and  that  the  part  is  not  suitable  to  me,  what  then, 
parlleu!  There  were  many  -who  thought  the  same  when 
I  played  Hoxane ;  and  what  harm  did  it  do  me  ?  If  they 
say  I  am  too  thin,  I  maintain  that  it  is  a  betise.  A  woman 
who  has  an  infamous  passion,  but  dies  rather  than  yield 
to  it;  a  woman  who  has  been  dried  up  in  the  fires  of 
affliction,  such  a  woman  cannot  have  a  chest  like  Madam 
Paradol.  It  would  be  a  contradiction  in  nature.  I  have 
read  the  part  ten  times  in  the  last  eight  days.  IJow  I 
shall  play  it  I  do  not  know  ;  but  I  tell  you  that  I  feel  it. 
In  vain  the  newspapers  object ;  they  will  not  disgust  me 
with  the  part.  The  newspapers,  instead  of  helping  mo 
and  encouraging  me,  exhaust  their  ingenuity  in  injuring 
me.  But  I  will  play  that  part  if  only  four  persons  como 
to  see  me!  Yes  (turning  to  De  Musset),  I  have  read 
certain  articles  full  of  candor  and  of  conscience,  and  1 
know  nothing  better  or  more  useful ;  but  there  are  people 
who  use  their  weapons  only  to  lie,  to  destroy  !  They  are 
worse  than  thieves  or  assassins.  They  kill  the  soul  with 
pin  pricks  !  0,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  could  poison  them. 

Mother — My  dear,  you  do  nothing  but  talk ;  you  tire 
yourself  out.  This  morning  you  were  up  at  six  o’clock  ; 
I  do  not  know  what  your  legs  are  made  of.  After  talking 
all  day  you  played  this  evening.  You  will  make  yourself 
sick. 

Rachel  ( eagerly ) — No  ;  let  me  alone !  I  tell  you,  no  ! 
It  is  that  which  keeps  me  alive.  Would  you  like  me 
(turning  to  De  Musset)  to  go  and  get  the  book  ?  We 
will  read  the  piece  together. 

The  Poet — Would  I  like  it !  You  could  propose  noth¬ 
ing  more  agreeable  to  me. 

Sarah — But,  my  dear,  it  is  half-past  eleven. 

Rachel — Very  well;  who  hinders  you  from  going  to 
bed  ? 


76 


AN  EVENING  WITH  RACHEL. 


Sarah  went  to  bed.  Rachel  rose  and  left  the  room, 
returning  in  a  moment  carrying  the  volume  of  Racine  in 
her  hands,  with  something  in  her  air  and  step  which 
seemed  to  the  poet  to  savor  of  the  solemn  and  religious. 
It  was  the  manner  of  a  celebrant  approaching  t lie  altar 
bearing  the  sacred  vessels.  She  took  a  seat  next  De  Mus¬ 
set,  and  snulfed  the  candles.  Her  mother  fell  into  a  doze. 

Rachel  ( opening  the  hook  in  a  manner  expressive  of  pro¬ 
found  respect ,  and  bending  over  if) — Howl  love  this  man  ! 
When  I  put  my  nose  into  this  book,  I  could  remain  two 
days  without  eating  or  drinking. 

The  poet  and  the  actress  then  began  to  read  that 
“  Plied  re  ”  which  French  critics,  from  Voltaire  to  Sainte 
Beuve,  unite  in  thinking  the  supreme  product  of  the 
French  drama.  The  book  lay  open  between  them.  The 
rest  of  the  company,  one  after  the  other,  took  their  leave, 
Rachel  nodding  a  slight  farewell  as  each  withdrew,  and 
continuing  to  read.  At  first  she  repeated  the  lines  in  a 
monotonous  tone,  as  though  she  was  saying  a  litany. 
Gradually  she  kindled.  They  exchanged  remarks  and 
ideas  upon  each  passage.  She  came  at  last  to  the  dcc- 
1  iration.  She  extended  one  arm  straight  upon  the  table, 
and  with  her  forehead  leaning  upon  her  left  hand  she 
abandoned  herself  entirely  to  the  reading.  Nevertheless, 
she  still  spoke  only  in  half  voice.  Suddenly  her  eyes 
sparkled.  The  genius  of  Racine  lighted  up  her  counte¬ 
nance.  She  grew  pale  and  red  by  turns.  Never  had  her 
companion  seen  anything  so  beautiful,  so  moving;  at  the 
theater  she  had  never  produced  such  an  effect  upon  him. 
All  the  circumstances  concurred  to  deepen. the  impres- 
!  ion  ;  her  fatigue,  a  slight  hoarseness,  the  evident  stimu¬ 
lus  of  the  punch,  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  the  almost 
levcrish  animation  of  that  little  face  with  the  pretty 
night  cap  over  it,  the  brilliancy  of  her  eyes,  a  certain 
infantile  smile  which  occasionally  flitted  across  her  counte- 


AN  EVENING  WITH  RACHEL. 


"7 


nance — even  the  disordered  table,  the  unsnuffed  candle, 
the  dozing  mother — all  made  up  a  picture  worthy  of 
Rembrandt,  a  chapter  that  might  figure  in  Wilhelm 
Mcister,  and  a  reminiscence  of  artist  life  never  to  be 
effaced. 

Ilalf-past  twelve  arrived.  The  father  of  the  family 
came  in  from  the  opera.  As  soon  as  he  was  seated  ho 
ordered  his  daughter,  in  tones  which  seemed  brutal  to 
the  poet,  to  stop  her  reading.  Rachel  closed  the  book, 
and  said  in  a  low  tone,  “  This  is  revolting;  I  will  buy  a 
book-holder  and  read  in  bed.”  Do  Musset  looked  at  her 
and  saw  large  tears  rolling  from  her  eyes.  It  was  to  him, 
indeed,  most  revolting  to  hear  this  wonderful  creature 
addressed  in  such  a  manner;  and  he  took  his  leave  full  of 
admiration,  respect,  and  emotion. 

Brutal  as  may  have  been  the  father’s  manner,  we  are 
obliged  to  confess  that  he  was  substantially  right ;  and  if 
this  gifted  girl  had  taken  his  advice,  only  so  far  as  to  go 
to  bed  when  her  work  was  done,  she  would  not  have  died 
at  the  age  of  thirty-seven,  when,  in  the  course  of  nature, 
she  would  not  have  reached  the  full  development  of  her 
powers.  Alfred  Dc  Musset  began  soon  after  to  write  a 
play  for  her  which  lie  did  not  live  to  complete  ;  for  he, 
too,  was  one  of  the  brilliant  people  who  burn  the  candle 
of  life  at  both  ends,  and  live  in  disregard  of  those  phys¬ 
ical  conditions  of  welfare  which  no  man  or  woman  can 
violate  with  impunity. 

In  Paris,  that  night,  there  were  a  thousand  suppers 
more  sumptuous  and  splendid.  The  chance  presence  of 
a  sympathetic  reporter,  by  preserving  a  record  of  this 
one,  reveals  to  us  the  sublime  child  herself  and  the  atmos¬ 
phere  in  which  she  lived.  Strange  that  our  cherished 
apparatus  of  education  should  give  us  mediocrity,  while 
genius  is  generated  under  the  rudest  conditions,  and 
develops  itself,  not  merely  without  help,  but  in  spite  of 
the  harshest  hind  ranee  ! 


JOSEPniXE  AND  BONAPARTE. 

E  get  much  light  upon  Josephine,  and  upon  Napo* 


V  V  Icon’s  general  brutality  towards  women  from 
the  Memoirs  of  Madame  de  R<jmusat,  which  the  people 
of  Paris  have  been  reading  lately  with  so  much  inter¬ 
est.  This  lady  was  a  member  of  the  household  cf  the 
Empress  Josephine  for  several  years,  and  she  gives 
us  an  inside  view  of  Napoleon’s  court  which  is  highly 
edifying.  A  particularly  interesting  chapter  is  that  in 
which  the  coronation  of  Bonaparte  and  Josephine  is 
related;  a  scene  which  Thiers  has  described  with  extr  - 
ordinary  splendoi  and  graphic  power.  Thiers  gives  us 
the  outside  of  the  wondrous  show  ;  Madame  de  Remusat 
the  inside. 

It  was  November,  1804.  The  new  emperor  and  empress 
were  at  the  palace  of  Saint-Cloud,  with  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  of  their  “  households,”  a  great  company  of 
noted  persons,  all  looking  forward  with  intenscst  interest 
to  the  coming  spectacle.  The  brothers  and  sisters  cf 
Napoleon  were  there  with  their  families  and  retinue.  A 
great  preliminary  question  agitated  the  circle,  respecting 
the  position  of  Josephine  in  the  ceremony  of  the  corona¬ 
tion.  Should  she  be  a  spectator  or  a  participant  ?  All 
in  a  word  :  Was  she  about  to  be  crowned  or  divorced '! 
Bonaparte  himself  passionately  desired  an  heir  to  his  new 
throne,  which  Josephine  could  never  give  him.  In  his 
address  to  the  Senate,  formally  accepting  the  throne,  he 
used  such  language  as  this : 


78 


JOSEPHINE,  WIFE  OF  NAPOLEON  I. 


79 


“  My  descendants  will  long  preserve  this  throne.  In 
the  field,  they  will  be  the  first  soldiers  of  the  army, 
sacrificing  their  lives  for  the  defence  of  their  country. 
As  magistrates,  they  will  never  lose  sight  of  the  truth 
that  contempt  for  the  laws  and  of  the  social  order  are 
only  the  results  of  the  weakness  and  indecision  of  princes.” 

To  the  people  of  France  the  full  significance  of  these 
words  was  not  apparent;  but  Josephine  and  all  the  family 
of  Bonaparte  knew  very  wTell  what  they  meant.  His 
brothers  and  sisters,  who  had  nothing  of  Napoleon  but  his 
littleness,  urged  him  with  excessive  importunity  to  seize 
this  occasion  to  set  Josephine  aside.  If  they  had  been 
less  persistent,  they  might  have  succeeded,  for  the 
emperor  was  strongly  tempted  to  begin  his  reign  with 
tins  act  of  baseness.  Josephine  herself  was  torn  with 
anxiety,  for  she  loved  the  pomps  and  splendors  of  a 
court,  and  was  really  attached  to  her  husband.  In  the 
crisis  of  these  family  intrigues  an  incident  occurred  which 
came  near  deciding  the  question  against  Josephine. 

Imagine  a  large  drawing-room  at  Saint-Cloud,  with 
windows  looking  out  upon  the  beautiful  gardens  of  that 
royal  chateau,  and  commanding  a  view  of  the  opposite 
wing,  in  which  were  the  emperor’s  own  rooms.  Imagine 
this  drawing-room  filled  with  the  ladies  belonging  to  the 
household  of  the  empress,  occupied  in  various  idle  employ¬ 
ments.  One  of  the  ladies  suddenly  leaves  the  apartment, 
and  Josephine,  who  had  been  for  some  weeks  very  jealous 
of  her,  looks  out  of  the  window,  and  sees  her  enter  the 
emperor’s  cabinet.  She  took  Madame  de  Remusat  aside, 
and  said  to  her  in  fierce  whispers : 

1  am  going  this  very  hour  to  know  the  truth  of  the 
matter.  Remain  in  this  saloon  with  ail  my  circle,  and  if 
any  one  asks  what  has  become  of  me,  you  will  say  that 
the  emperor  has  sent  for  me.” 

The  lady  strove  to  retain  her,  but  she  was  beside  her- 


8o 


JOSEPHINE,  WIFE  OF  NAPOLEON  I. 


self  with  passion,  and  would  not  listen  to  her.  Josephine 
left  the  room,  and  was  gone  for  half  an  hour.  Then 
returning,  she  ordered  Madame  de  Remusat  to  follow  her 
into  her  chamber. 

“  All  is  lost !  ”  cried  the  empress,  as  soon  as  they  were 
alone  ;  “  and  what  I  suspected  is  only  too  true.  I  sought 
the  emperor  in  his  cabinet.  lie  was  not  there!  Then  I 
went  by  the  secret  staircase  to  the  little  suite  of  rooms 
above.  I  found  the  door  shut,  but  through  the  keyhole  I 
heal'd  their  voices.  I  knocked  very  loud,  saying  who  I 
was.  When  the  door  was  opened  I  burst  into  reproaches, 
and  she  began  to  cry.  Bonaparte  flew  into  a  passion  so 
violent  that  I  scarcely  had  time  to  escape  from  his  resent¬ 
ment.  In  truth,  I  am  still  trembling;  for  I  do  not  know 
to  what  excess  he  would  have  carried  his  fury.  No  doubt 
he  will  come  here,  and  I  expect  a  terrible  scene.” 

“  Do  not  commit  a  second  fault,”  said  Madame  de 
Re  mu  sat ;  “  for  the  emperor  would  never  forgive  your 
making  a  confidante  of  any  one  whatever  in  this  matter. 
Let  me  leave  you,  madame.  lie  must  find  you  alone, 
and  do  try  to  soften  him,  and  repair  so  great  an 
imprudence.” 

There  was  indeed  a  terrible  scene  between  the  most 
arbitrary  of  men  and  his  jealous  wife.  As  soon  as  he  was 
gone,  Josephine  called  Madame  de  Remusat  to  her  and 
told  her  that  Bonaparte  in  his  anger  had  broken  some  of 
the  furniture,  and  given  her  notice  to  prepare  to  leave 
Saint-Cloud,  as  he  was  tired  of  being  watched  by  a  jeal¬ 
ous  woman.  He  was  resolved,  he  said,  to  shake  off  such 
a  yoke,  and  then  do  what  his  policy  required — marry  a 
woman  who  could  give  him  children.  Upon  leaving  her, 
he  sent  to  Paris  for  her  son  Eugene  to  come  and  take 
charge  of  his  mother’s  departure  from  the  palace. 

“  I  am  lost  beyond  resource,”  said  Josephine. 

Eugene  arrived.  lie  behaved  nobly,  refusing  all 


JOSEPHINE  WIFE  OF  NAPOLEON  I. 


81 


recompense  and  benefits  of  every  kind,  and  declaring  that 
he  would  devote  himself  to  his  mother,  even  if  he  had  to 
go  back  with  her  to  Martinique,  her  native  island.  Bona¬ 
parte  appeared  struck  with  this  generous  devotion,  and 
listened  to  the  young  man  in  “  ferocious  silence.”  A  few 
days  passed.  Josephine  acted  upon  the  advice  of  her 
lady,  and  played  the  part  of  the  contrite  and  submissive 
wife.  Napoleon,  who  had  really  loved  her  after  his  fash¬ 
ion,  was  soon  mollified,  and  he  then  endeavored  to  per¬ 
suade  her  to  spare  him  the  pain  of  sending  her  away  by 
going  away  herself. 

“  I  have  not  the  courage,”  said  he  to  her,  “  to  take  the 
last  resolution,  and  if  you  exhibit  too  much  sorrow,  and 
if  you  only  obey  me,  I  feel  that  I  shall  never  be  firm 
enough  to  compel  you  to  leave  me ;  but,  I  confess,  I 
greatly  desire  that  you  should  resign  yourself  to  the 
interest  of  my  policy,  and  that  you  yourself  should 
relieve  me  of  the  embarrassment  of  this  painful  separa¬ 
tion.” 

To  all  suen  words  as  these,  Josephine  only  replied  by 
the  penetrating  eloquence  of  tears.  These  might  net 
have  succeeded  if  the  other  Bonapartes  had  not  urged 
the  divorce  with  the  vehemence  of  personal  jealously  and 
dislike.  They  thought  they  had  succeeded,  and  boasted 
of  their  triumph  a  little  too  openly  and  confidently. 
Napoleon  perceived  this,  and  suddenly  determined  to 
disappoint  them.  He  told  her  one  evening  that  the  Pope 
was  about  to  arrive,  who  would  crown  them  both  in  the 
cathedral  of  Notre  Dame. 

The  preparations  now  went  forward  with  great  rapidity. 
There  were  private  rehearsals  of  the  coronation,  attended 
by  the  artist  David,  who  directed  the  positions  of  each 
performer,  and  arranged  all  the  details  of  the  scene.  It 
was  on  one  of  these  occasions  that  Napoleon  announced 
his  intention  of  putting  the  crown  upon  his  own  head; 
for,  said  lie : 


82 


JOSEPHINE,  WIFE  OF  NAPOLEON  I. 


“  T  found  the  crown  of  France  on  the  ground,  and  I 
picked  it  up.” 

On  the  great  day,  the  sisters  of  Napoleon  were  forced 
to  carry  the  train  of  the  empress ;  a  duty  which  they  per¬ 
formed  with  so  much  repugnance,  and  so  badly,  that  she 
could  scarcely  walk,  until  the  emperor  growled  a  sharp 
reproof  through  his  clenched  teeth. 

The  most  startling  anecdote  which  these  Memoirs 
have  so  far  given,  is  one  showing  that  Napoleon  was  will¬ 
ing  at  one  time  to  palm  off  on  the  French  people  a  falso 
heir  to  the  throne.  Attempts  of  this  kind  have  been  the 
subject  of  more  than  one  popular  novel;  but  here  it 
figures  as  a  fact.  Josephine,  to  save  her  crown,  (rave 
her  consent  to  the  fraud,  and  Bonaparte  sent  for  his  chief 
physician,  Corvisart,  to  arrange  with  him  the  details. 
Dr.  Corvisart  proved  to  be  a  man  of  courage  and  honor. 
He  refused  to  lend  himself  to  the  deception,  and  the  nota¬ 
ble  project  was  of  necessity  given  up.  It  was  not  until 
after  the  marriage  of  Bonaparte  with  Marie  Louise  and 
the  birth  of  her  son,  that  Dr.  Corvisart  confided  this 
secret  to  Madame  de  Rdmusat. 

Such  is  personal  government.  Such  are  courts.  Such 
are  the  consequences  of  resting  the  honor  and  safety  of  a 
nation  upon  one  man. 


LADY  MORGAN. 


N  naming  one  of  her  early  novels  “  The  Wild  Irish 


I  Girl,”  Lady  Morgan  gave  the  public  an  inkling  of  her 
own  character.  The  world  Wild,  however,  has  acquired 
opprobrious  meanings,  none  of  which  apply  to  her  inno-* 
cent  and  high-bred  vivacity.  She  was  a  true  specimen  of 
the  Irish  race,  gay,  witty,  liberal,  but  ever  loyal  to  friends 
and  duty.  No  contrast  could  be  greater  than  her  exuber¬ 
ant  gayety  with  the  constrained  existence  and  despotic 
formalism  to  which  we  are  accustomed ;  and  hence  the 
interest  she  excites  in  us.  Here  is  her  strange,  eventful 
history,  a  history  possible  only  to  a  child  of  Erin. 

On  Christmas  eve,  1783,  a  party  was  gathered  in  Dub¬ 
lin  at  the  house  of  a  popular  Irish  actor,  by  name  Robert 
Owenson.  His  wife  was  not  present,  having  excused  her¬ 
self  on  the  plea  of  indisposition ;  but  the  feast  progressed 
merrily,  with  singing,  toasts,  and  story-telling,  and  it  was 
already  Christmas  morning  when  a  breathless  messenger 
appeared  on  the  threshold  to  inform  the  host  of  the 
arrival  of  an  unexpected  Christmas  present  from  his 
wife.  He  hastily  quitted  the  room  on  receiving  the 
announcement,  and  an  hour  later  returned  beaming  to 
his  guests  (who  had  not  thought  of  dispersing  in  the 
meantime)  bringing  word  that  all  was  going  well,  and  he 
was  the  proud  father  of  “a  dear  little  Irish  girl,”  the 
blessing  he  had  long  wished  for.  This  intelligence  was 
greeted  with  a  half-suppressed  cheer  by  the  company,  who 


83 


84 


LADY  MORGAN. 


arranged  before  they  left  to  meet  again  a  month  later  and 
celebrate  the  christening,  one  of  them,  Edward  Lysaght, 
a  noted  lawyer  and  wit  of  that  day,  agreeing  to  stand 
sponsor. 

The  party  then  broke  up,  and  made  the  best  haste  they 
could  to  their  several  homes,  for  the  night  was  cold  and  the 
snow  was  falling.  Lysaght,  who  had  the  farthest  to  go, 
trudged  steadily  onward,  his  mind  yet  filled  with  thoughts 
of  the  feast  just  over  and  of  the  little  baby  who  was  to  be 
his  goddaughter,  while  the  notes  of  a  Christmas  carol, 
sung  by  a  child  whose  form  he  could  dimly  perceive  some 
distance  in  advance,  floated  back  to  his  ears  and  fell  in 
pleasantly  with  his  thoughts.  Overtaking  the  child,  he 
was  enabled  to  catch  the  last  wox'ds  of  her  song.  They 
were  the  well-known  refrain : 

“  Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year, 

And  when  it  comes  it  brings  good  cheer. ” 

As  the  song  died  away  the  singer  sank  down  suddenly 
upon  the  steps  of  a  brilliantly  lighted  house  resounding 
with  music  and  laughter.  He  went  up  to  her  and  found 
that  she  was  dead,  still  grasping  her  ballad  in  her  hand. 

This  pathetic  story  of  her  birth  night  was  almost  the 
first  story  told  to  Robert  Owenson’s  little  daughter,  and  a 
short  poem  upon  the  subject  by  Lysaght  was  the  first 
thing  she  ever  learned  by  heart. 

Her  christening  took  place  according  to  agreement,  a 
month  after  her  birth,  and  the  occasion  was  one  of  rejoic¬ 
ings  truly  Irish  in  their  character.  A  branch  of  shillalah 
graced  the  table,  and  Mr.  Owenson,  who  was  a  fine  musi¬ 
cian,  sang,  first  in  Irish  and  then  in  English,  the  famous 
song  of  “  O'Rourke’s  Noble  Feast,”  the  whole  company 
joining  enthusiastically  in  the  chorus  : 

“  Oh  you  are  welcome  heartily, 

Welcome,  gramachree, 

Welcome  heartily, 

Welcome  joy! ” 


LADY  MORGAN. 


85 


Later,  the  extremely  young  lady  was  lierself  brought 
in,  and  her  health  drunk  standing  with  three  times 
three,  and  the  significant  accompanying  words,  “Foglun 
Fall,”  or  “  wait  awhile.”  It  was  an  appropriate  toast, 
for  a  ‘  while  ’  not  very  long  raised  the  little  Sydney  Owt  11- 
son,  who  was  thus  cordially  greeted  upon  her  first  appear¬ 
ance  in  society,  to  a  position  where  few  of  her  early 
friends  expected  to  find  her. 

Robert  Owenson  was  a  gifted  and  hospitable  Irishman; 
the  only  son  of  "Walter  MacOwcn  or  Owenson,  a  Con¬ 
naught  farmer,  and  Sydney  Crofton,  the  orphan  grand¬ 
daughter  of  Sir  Malby  Crofton  of  Longford  House.  His 
parents  had  made  an  indiscreet  and  romantic  marriage. 
They  met  first  at  a  hurling-match,  where  Miss  Crofton 
was  the  Queen  of  Beauty  who  awarded  the  prize,  and 
young  Owenson  the  handsome  athlete  who  won  it.  A 
few  weeks  after,  they  ran  away  together  and  were  mar¬ 
ried,  but  the  union  did  not  prove  a  happy  one,  and  the 
bride,  who  was  a  woman  of  talent,  consoled  herself  as 
best  she  could  with  music  and  poetry.  So  well  were  her 
efforts  appreciated  by  the  neighboring  peasants  that  they 
nicknamed  her  Clasagh-na- Valla,  or  Harp  of  the  Valley. 
Her  eloquence,  however,  was  of  more  practical  benefit  to 
her  son,  since  a  certain  Mr.  Blake  was  so  impressed  by 
her  recital  of  the  wrongs  inflicted  by  one  of  his  ancestors 
upon  a  long  dead  MacOwen,  that  he  carried  off  young 
Robert  to  London  with  him  by  way  of  amends.  After  a 
time  a  love  affair  with  a  pretty  singer  brought  the  young 
man  into  disgrace  with  his  patron,  and  he  took  to  the 
stage  to  support  himself.  A  few  years  later,  following 
the  family  custom,  he  ran  away  with  and  married  Miss 
Jane  Hill,  the  sister  of  a  college  friend. 

It  was  from  her  father  that  Sydney  Owenson,  the  name¬ 
sake  of  poor  Clasagh-na-Valla,  derived  those  brilliant  and 
winning  qualities  that  made  her  famous ;  but  it  was  her 

t> 


86 


LADY  MORGAN. 


English  mother  from  whom  she  inherited  her  practical 
sense  and  business  capacity,  and  perhaps  also  what  she 
herself  describes  as  her  “  sacred  horror  of  debt.” 

During  her  early  years  the  family  fortunes  were 
extremely  unsettled,  her  father  striving  vainly  to  earn  a 
respectable  income  by  the  combined  pursuits  of  wine  mer¬ 
chant  and  manager  of  a  theatre.  She  and  her  younger 
sister  Olivia  received  an  irregular  education,  partly  from 
their  mother,  partly  at  school.  But  they  did  not  progress 
satisfactorily,  and  Sydney  in  particular  was  the  despair 
of  her  mother,  who  had  set  her  heart  upon  having  her 
eldest  daughter  equal  the  achievements  of  a  precocious 
little  child  of  Rowland  Hill’s,  wdio  had  read  the  Bible 
through  twice  before  she  was  five,  and  knitted  all  the 
stockings  worn  by  the  coachman.  Happily  for  the  public 
good  Mrs.  Owenson’s  ambition  was  disappointed ;  her  elfish 
little  girl  found  it  quite  impossible  to  master  the  genealogy 
of  the  patriarchs,  and  could  not  be  made  to  sit  still  and 
sew,  but  nothing  that  was  going  on  about  her  escaped  her 
inquisitive,  bright  eyes.  She  wras  deeply  interested  in  all 
the  trades  carried  on  in  the  neighborhood,  and  did  her 
best  to  become  acquainted  with  their  mysteries. 

She  even  went  so  far  as  to  set  up  a  shop  with  her 
father’s  theatrical  wigs,  choosing  for  the  purpose  the 
only  window  fronting  upon  the  street,  and  inscribing  upon 
it,  in  her  best  and  biggest  hand-writing,  Sydney  Owen- 
sox,  System,  Tete  and  Peruke  Maker — which  was  the 
proper  form  of  advertising  at  that  period.  What  is 
more,  she  could  have  carried  on  the  trade  had  she  been 
permitted,  having  acquired  the  art  through  observing 
her  father's  hair-dresser. 

She  was  also  tolerably  well  instructed  in  chimney¬ 
sweeping,  having  closely  observed  the  proceedings  of  a 
number  of  young  sweeps  who  lived  in  a  cellar  across  the 
way.  On  one  occasion,  when  the  school  chimney  caught 


LADT  MORGAN. 


*7 


fire,  she  clashed  out  into  the  street  and  summoned  in  the 
the  whole  tribe  of  them  to  the  rescue.  They  put  out  the 
fire,  but  filled  the  room  with  soot,  greatly  to  the  indigna¬ 
tion  of  the  school-mistress,  who  turned  them  all  out  into 
the  street  for  their  pains,  and  Sydney  with  them. 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  she  made  her  first  liter¬ 
ary  venture.  She  was  the  happy  owner  of  a  large  number 
of  pets,  chiefly  among  which  was  a  great  yellow  cat, 
named  Ginger.  Ginger  and  Mrs.  Owcnson  were  not  on 
the  best  of  terms,  and  the  discerning  animal  was  glad  to 
keep  herself  out  of  that  lady’s  way,  in  a  snug  nook 
arranged  for  her  underneath  the  sideboard  by  her  little 
mistress.  One  evening,  as  Sydney  was  kneeling  at  her 
mother’s  knee,  concluding  her  nightly  prayer,  with  a 
blessing  invoked  upon  her  various  friends,  a  soft  purr  was 
heard  issuing  from  this  retreat.  Moved  by  so  touching 
an  appeal,  she  added  to  her  usual  petition  the  words, 
“  God  bless  Ginger  the  cat !  ”  Mrs.  Owcnson,  much 
shocked,  caught  her  by  the  shoulder  and  shook  her,  say- 
ing: 

“  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  j'ou  stupid  child  ?” 

“  May  I  not  say,  ‘  bless  Ginger  ?  ’  ”  asked  Sydney. 

“  Certainly  not,”  replied  Mrs.  Owenson. 

“  Why  mama  ?  ” 

“  Because  Ginger  is  not  a  Christian  !  ” 

“  Wlcy  is  not  Ginger  a  Christian  ?” 

“  Why  ?  Because  Ginger  is  only  an  animal.” 

“Am  I  a  Christian,  mama,  or  an  animal?” 

At  this  point  Molly,  the  devoted  household  servant, 
was  abruptly  requested  to  take  those  troublesome  children 
to  bed,  and  teach  them  not  to  ask  foolish  questions.  But 
even  bed  did  not  end  the  matter.  Sydney’s  warmest 
feelings  were  aroused  in  sympathy  with  her  poor  un- 
Christian  favorite,  and  while  lying  awake  she  composed 
a  poem  in  its  honor,  which  was  next  morning  recited  in 


88 


LADY  MORGAN. 


the  kitchen  amid  great  applause.  James  the  butler  took 
it  down  from  the  lips  of  the  young  poet;  Molly  corrected 
the  proof;  and  at  breakfast  it  was  read  to  the  family, 
winning  praise  from  Mr.  Owenson,  and,  which  was 
more  important,  a  pardon  for  both  Sydney  and  Ginger. 
Here  it  is : 

“  My  dear  pussy  cat, 

Were  I  a  mouse  or  rat 

Sure  I  never  would  run  off  from  you ; 

You're  so  funny  and  gay 
With  your  tail  when  you  play, 

And  no  song  is  so  sweet  as  your  mew. 

“  But  pray  keep  in  your  press, 

And  don’t  make  a  mess 
When  you  share  with  your  kittens  our  posset ; 

For  mama  can’t  abide  you, 

And  I  cannot  hide  you, 

Except  you  keep  close  in  your  closet.” 

Tn  spite  of  Mrs.  Owcnson’s  antipathy  to  Ginger,  and  to 
most  other  things  which  her  daughter  particularly  liked, 
Sydney  was  very  fond  of  her  mother,  and  her  death  a  few 
years  later  was  a  terrible  blow  to  her.  It  was  thought 
best  for  the  children  to  be  out  of  the  way  for  a  few  days 
after  the  event,  and  they  were  sent  to  stay  with  a  friend 
who  lived  some  miles  distant.  Sydney  was  not  content 
to  be  separated  from  her  father  in  his  time  of  trouble. 
Twice  she  was  captured  and  detained  when  about  to 
return ,  but  the  third  time  she  succeeded  in  squeezing 
herself  through  a  hole  cut  in  the  barn-door  for  the  dog,  and 
ran  the  whole  way  home,  never  pausing  till  she  found 
her  father  and  threw  herself  into  his  arms. 

During  the  next  few  years  the  condition  of  Mr.  Owcn- 
son's  business  became  worse  and  worse,  till  it  at  last 
resulted  in  bankruptcy,  and  he  went  away  to  Limerick  to 
await  a  final  meeting  of  his  creditors.  It  was  the  girls' 


LADY  MORGAN. 


89 


vacation  at  the  time,  and  they  were  left  at  home  under 
(he  guardianship  of  the  faithful  Molly  until  their  school 
should  reopen,  the  true  cause  of  their  father’s  journey 
being  unknown  to  them.  But  Sydney  was  not  easily  kept 
in  the  dark,  and  it  was  not  long  before  her  father  received 
a  letter  from  her,  containing  a  strange  mingling  of  fore¬ 
sight  and  simplicity. 

“  Mr.  O’F - has  been  here,”  she  wrote.  “  lie  has 

told  me  all,  and  I  have  seen  your  name  on  the  list  of 
Statutes  of  Bankruptcy.  He  said  it  was  the  best  and 
lioncstest,  indeed,  the  only  thing  that  could  be  done,  and 
that  you  will  come  out  of  this  terrible  dilemma  as  well 
considered  and  respected  as  you  have  hitherto  lived  ;  but 
that  time,  and  great  economy,  and  your  resuming  your 
theatrical  position  with  Mr.  Daly  at  the  Theatre  Royal, 
were  indispensable.  Now,  for  all  this,  dear  sir,  we  must 
relieve  you  from  the  terrible  expense  you  have  been  at 
for  our  education.  Of  this,  I  am  resolved  to  relieve  you, 
and  to  earn  money  for  you  instead  of  spending  the  little 
you  will  have  for  some  time  to  come.” 

An  important  statement  in  italics,  follows :  “  Now, 

dear  papa,  I  have  tivo  novels  nearl y  finished  !  ” 

Her  plan  was  to  go  out  as  a  governess  while  she 
finished  llicsc  works,  and  she  had  already  heard  of  two 
situations,  either  of  which  she  thought  she  could  fill.  A 
short  postscript  to  the  letter  shows  that  her  talent  for 
being  agreeable  had  already  begun  to  be  recognized. 

“  P.  S.  Captain  Earle  and  Captain  White  Benson,  who 
you  may  remember  at  Kilkenny  were  always  running 
after  us,  called  yesterday  ;  but  Molly  would  not  let  them 
in,  which  I  thought  was  rather  impertinent  of  her. 
However,  as  things  arc  at  present,  I  believe  it  was  all  for 
the  best.” 

Her  next  letter  shows  the  manner  in  which  she  faced 
the  embarrassments  of  her  position.  She  begins  by  com- 


90 


LADY  MORGAN. 


plaining  of  a  certain  “  odious  Mrs.  Anderson,”  who 
wanted  her  bill  paid,  and  was  “  insolent  ”  about  it,  and 
also  of  the  landlady,  who  not  only  detained  their  piano, 
a  hired  one,  when  they  wished  to  return  it  to  the  owners, 
but  gave  them  warning  to  leave  next  week.  Molly  the 
dauntless  defended  the  rights  of  her  young  charges,  and 
the  contest  of  words  threatened  at  one  time,  greatly  to 
their  terror,  to  become  a  passage  of  arms.  When  this 
excitement  was  over  the  three  sat  down  and  indulged  in 
a  hearty  cry,  in  the  midst  of  which  arrived  M.  Fontaine, 
Mr.  Owenson’s  old  ballet-master,  and  a  devoted  friend. 
He  was  in  a  carriage  on  his  way  to  Dublin  Castle,  where 
he  had  recently  been  appointed  Master  of  Ceremonies. 

“  Poor  darling  old  gentleman,”  wrote  Sydney  to  her 
“dearest  Dad,”  “I  thought  he  was  going  to  cry  with  us 
(for  we  told  him  everything),  instead  of  which,  however, 
he  threw  up  the  window  and  cried  out,  ‘Come  up  then, 
Martin  my  son,  with  your  little  violin  ’  ;  and  up  comes 
Martin,  more  ugly  and  absurd  than  ever,  with  his  little 
‘  kit  ’  ;  and  what  docs  dear  old  Fontaine  do  but  put  us  in 
v  circle,  that  we  might  dance  a  cliassez-a-la-ronde ,  saying, 

‘  enliven  yourselves,  my  children,  that  is  the  only  thing 
and  only  think,  there  we  were  ;  the  next  minute  we  were  i 
all  of  us — Molly,  Martin,  and  Monsieur  included — danc¬ 
ing  away  to  the  tune  ‘What  a  Beau  your  Granny  is’ 
(the  only  one  that  Martin  can  play),  and  we  were  all 
laughing  ready  to  die  until  Livy  gave  Molly,  who  was  in 
the  way,  a  kick  behind  ;  she  fell  upon  Martin,  who  fell 
upon  his  father,  who  fell  upon  me — and  there  we  were, 
all  sprawling  like  a  pack  of  cards  and  laughing ;  and 
then,  dear  papa,  Fontaine  sent  off  Martin  in  the  carriage 
to  the  confectioner’s  in  Grafton  street  for  some  ices  and 
biscuits  ;  so  that  we  had  quite  a  feast  and  no  time  to 
think  or  be  sorrowful.” 

Better  even  than  this,  the  merry  and  wise  old  French- 


LADT  MOItGAN. 


91 


man  carried  the  girls  off  with  him  to  the  Castle,  where 
they  spent  a  triumphant  evening,  listening  to  songs  and 
readings,  observing  t lie  noted  people  present,  and  finally 
(owing  to  a  judicious  word  from  M.  Fontaine  to  their 
hostess,  Countess  O’Haggerty)  themselves  singing  a  duet 
which  took  the  company  by  storm. 

Twice  disappointed  in  her  hope  of  obtaining  a  situa¬ 
tion — both  the  places  mentioned  in  her  letter  to  her  father 
being  denied  her  on  account  of  her  youth — Sydney 
Owenson  was  at  last  engaged  as  governess  and  com¬ 
panion  for  the  daughters  of  Mr.  Fcatherstone,  two  pleas¬ 
ant  girls  of  about  her  own  age.  The  arrangement  was 
made  by  their  mother,  'while  visiting  in  Dublin,  and  it 
was  settled  that  Miss  Owenson  should  join  the  family  a 
few  days  later  at  their  country  seat,  Bracklin  Castle. 

She  was  to  leave  Dublin  by  the  night  coach,  and  M. 
Fontaine,  ever  gay  and  ever  friendly,  gave  a  farewell  party 
in  her  honor  on  the  very  evening  of  her  departure. 
There  was  no  danger  of  her  missing  the  coach,  he  assured 
her,  since  it  passed  close  by  at  the  head  of  the  street,  and 
the  driver  had  promised  to  blow  his  horn.  She  could 
bring  her  traveling  dress  with  her  in  her  bag,  and  change 
her  costume  before  starting. 

The  party  took  place,  and  was  highly  successful. 
Indeed,  so  great  was  the  general  hilarity  that  the  passage 
of  time  was  forgotten,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  dance, 
just  as  Miss  Owenson  was  flying  merrily  through  “  Money 
in  Both  Pockets,”  with  her  favorite  partner,  the  horn 
sounded  its  warning  blast  from  the  corner.  There  was 
not  a  moment  to  lose  ;  a  change  of  dress  was  not  to  be 
thought  of.  With  her  own  bonnet  hastily  clapped  on  her 
head,  and  Molly’s  long  cloak  thrown  over  her  shoulders, 
she  dashed  out  of  the  door,  accompanied  by  her  partner 
bearing  her  valise,  and  escorted  on  her  way  by  the  whole 
excited  company  in  a  body.  She  made  the  best  speed 


92 


LADY  MORGAN. 


she  could,  her  pink  silk  shoes  glancing  over  the  icy  pave¬ 
ment,  and  her  muslin  ball  dress  fluttering  in  the  wind — 
and  reached  the  stage  just  as  the  grumbling  driver  was 
preparing  to  go  on  without  her. 

At  Kinigad,  where  she  arrived  late  at  night  very  tired 
and  sleepy,  she  retired  at  once  to  her  room  in  the  inn, 
too  confused  to  remember  her  baggage,  and  sure  that  she 
would  have  plenty  of  time  to  change  her  dress  in  the  morn¬ 
ing,  before  the  carriage  from  Bracklin  came  to  her.  But 
what  washer  dismay  when  she  rose  and  asked  for  her  bag, 
to  find  that  it  had  gone  on  with  the  stage  !  She  could  but 
resign  herself  to  the  inevitable,  and  towards  noon,  after 
a  long  drive,  she  presented  herself  in  the  drawing-room 
of  the  Castle,  “  pinched,  cold,  confused,  and  miserable,” 
to  claim  her  new  position.  The  whole  family  was  assem¬ 
bled,  and  a  general  titter  greeted  her  appearance,  Mr. 
Featherstone  alone  regarding  her  fantastic  attire  Avith 
severe  disapproval.  For  a  moment  she  was  daunted, 
but  her  native  courage  soon  revived,  and  she  told  her 
story  with  such  vividness  and  spirit,  that  her  audience 
Avere  completely  overcome  with  mingled  mirth  and  com¬ 
passion  for  her  sad  plight,  and  as  soon  as  she  had  con¬ 
cluded  she  was  born  off  in  a  gale  of  laughter  by  the  two 
girls,  who  ransacked  their  wardrobes  to  find  her  some¬ 
thing  to  wear. 

Nor  was  this  all.  At  dinner,  Mrs.  Featherstone  intro¬ 
duced  her  to  two  tutors,  the  parish  priest,  and  the 
Protestant  curate  of  the  neighboring  village,  and  she 
kept  the  table  in  a  roar  during  the  whole  meal,  while  the 
servants  who  Availed  nearly  choked  themselves  by  stuff¬ 
ing  napkins  in  their  mouths,  in  a  vain  attempt  to  refrain 
from  laughing.  So  pleased  were  her  companions,  that  at 
dessert  the  priest,  Father  Murphy,  arose  with  a  glass  of 
port  Avine  in  his  hand  to  drink  her  health.  After  a  polite 
bow  and  a  “  By  your  leave,  Madame,”  to  the  hostess,  he 
turned  to  the  neAV  governess,  exclaiming : 


LADY  MOIIO AX. 


93 


“  This  is  a  hearty  welcome  to  ye  to  "Westmeath,  Miss 
Owenson ;  and  this  is  to  your  health,  mind,  and  body  !  ” 

Music  followed,  and  she  delighted  her  hearers  with 
“  Barbara  Allen,”  and  her  favorite  Irish  song,  “Ned  of 
the  Hills.”  The  applause  with  which  these  selections 
were  received  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  but¬ 
ler,  who  announced  that  a  piper  had  come  from  Castle¬ 
town,  “  to  play  in  Miss  Owenson.”  At  once  the  young 
ladies  proposed  a  dance  in  the  hall ;  partners  were  chosen ; 
the  music  struck  up  ;  the  servants  crowded  about  the 
open  doors  to  look  on  ;  and  Sydney  Owenson,  always  one 
of  the  lightest  and  most  graceful  of  dancers,  concluded 
her  first  day  as  a  governess  with  an  exultant  Irish  jig. 

Imagine  such  a  debut  as  this  in  a  staid  English  or 
American  family  ! 

In  spite,  however,  of  her  startling  entrance  upon  the 
scene,  she  fulfilled  the  duties  of  her  position  conscien¬ 
tiously  and  successfully,  and  devoted  most  of  her  leisure 
time  to  the  completion  of  one  of  the  two  half-finished 
novels.  The  work  was  finally  concluded  in  Dublin,  where 
the  Feathcrstones  spent  a  portion  of  each  year,  and  she 
determined  to  see  it  safely  in  the  hands  of  the  printer 
before  returning  to  Bracklin  Castle.  The  novel  had 
been  accomplished  alone  and  unaided,  and  she  resolved 
to  keep  her  secret  to  the  last,  though  she  did  not  even 
know  the  difference  between  a  publisher  and  a  book¬ 
seller. 

She  rose  early  one  morning,  glided  quietly  down  the 
stairs,  appropriated  to  her  own  use  the  cloak  and  market- 
bonnet  of  the  cook,  which  she  found  hanging  in  the  hall, 
and  slipped  out  of  tho  house  unperceivcd,  carrying  her 
manuscript  neatly  tied  with  a  rose-colored  ribbon  under 
her  arm.  She  had  not  the  least  idea  where  to  go,  and 
wandered  about  the  business  streets  of  the  city,  frightened 
and  uncertain,  until  her  eye  fell  upon  a  sign  bearing  tho 


94 


LADY  MORGAN. 


words :  “  T.  Smith,  Printer  and  Bookseller.”  As  she 
entered  the  doorway,  the  impish  shop-boy,  who  was  sweep¬ 
ing  out  the  place,  sent  a  cloud  of  dust  into  her  face,  then 
dropping  his  broom  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  counter  and 
inquired  : 

“  What  do  you  plaize  to  want,  Miss  ?  ” 

“  The  gentleman  of  the  house,”  she  managed  to  reply. 

“  Which  of  them,  young  or  ould  ?  ”  asked  the  boy  ;  but 
before  she  could  answer  an  inner  door  opened,  and  a 
young  soldier  in  full  uniform,  his  musket  over  his 
shoulder,  entered  whistling  “  The  Irish  Volunteers,”  and 
stopped  short,  surprised  at  the  unexpected  apparition  of 
an  exceedingly  pretty  girl  in  an  exceedingly  ugly  bonnet. 

To  add  to  the  discomfort  of  the  situation,  the  shop-boy, 
with  a  wink,  put  in  his  word  :  “  Ilere’s  a  young  Miss  wants 
to  sec  ver,  Master  James;”  whereupon  Master  James, 
much  flattered  by  the  announcement,  advanced  smilingly 
and  chucked  Miss  Owenson  under  the  chin.  Before  she 
could  find  words  to  resent  this  familiarity,  an  elderly 
gentleman  in  a  great  passion  burst  into  the  room,  half- 
shaved,  and  still  holding  his  razor  and  shaving  cloth  in 
his  hand,  and  ordered  the  young  soldier  to  be  off  “  like  a 
sky-rocket”  to  join  his  company,  which  was  about  to 
march.  He  then  turned  to  poor  Miss  Owenson,  and 
addressing  her  as  “  Honey,”  bade  her  sit  down  and  he 
would  be  back  in  a  jiffy.  He  vanished,  but  soon  returned 
in  a  more  presentable  condition,  and  inquired  what  he 
could  do  for  her.  She  was  too  confused  to  reply  immedi¬ 
ately,  but  after  he  had  repeated  the  question  she  answered 
faintly,  beginning  to  untie  the  rose-colored  ribbon  : 

“  I  want  to  sell  a  book,  please.” 

“To  sell  a  book,  dear?  An  ould  one?  for  I  sell  new 
ones  myself.  And  what  is  the  name  of  it,  and  what  is  it 
about  ?  ” 

The  title,  she  told  him,  was  St.  Clair,  and  it  was  a  novel 


LADY  MORGAN. 


95 


of  sentiment,  after  the  manner  of  TVerter.  But,  unfor¬ 
tunately,  Mr.  Smith  had  never  heard  of  “Wertcr,”  and, 
moreover,  he  was  not  a  publisher  at  all.  He  told  her  so 
very  good-naturedly,  and  the  young  authoress,  “  hot, 
hungry,  flurried,  and  mortified,”  as  she  says  in  describing 
the  incident,  began  to  tie  up  her  manuscript  with  unsteady 
fingers.  She  tried  to  meet  the  blow  bravely,  but  tears 
came  into  her  eyes  in  spite  of  herself,  and  kind-hearted 
Mr.  Smith  melted  at  once. 

“  Don’t  cry,  dear — don’t  cry,”  he  said  consolingly. 
“  There’s  money  bid  for  you  yet !  But  you're  very  young 
to  turn  author,  and  what’s  your  name,  dear?” 

“  OwQnson,  sir,”  she  replied. 

The  name  acted  like  an  charm.  Mr.  Smith,  who  was 
an  old  friend  of  her  father,  asked  her  into  the  parlor  and 
wrote  a  letter  recommending  her  to  Mr.  Brown,  a  noted 
publisher  of  novels.  So,  courtesying,  blushing,  and  wiping 
her  eyes,  she  took  her  leave  and  set  forth  in  search  of 
Mr.  Bro  wn. 

She  found  him  without  much  trouble — a  little  old  man 
in  a  bob-wig,  looking  over  papers  at  a  counter — and  pre¬ 
sented  her  letter,  which  he  seemed  by  no  means  pleased 
to  receive.  lie  was  still  frowning  at  it  when  his  wife 
entered  from  an  inner  room  where  breakfast  was  prepared, 
exclaiming  : 

“  Mr.  Brown,  your  tea  is  as  cold  as  ice  !  ” 

Then,  taking  possession  of  the  note,  she  asked  what 
that  was. 

“  A  young  lady  who  wants  me  to  publish  her  novel, 
which  I  can’t  do,”  was  the  discouraging  reply ;  “  my 
hands  are  full  already.” 

Poor  Miss  Owenson  raised  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes  ;  but  Mrs.  Brown,  pitying  her  distress,  told  her  to 
leave  the  book  and  she  would  see  that  it  was  carefully 
read.  St.  CLir,  p’nk  ribbons  and  all,  remained  on  Mr. 


96 


LADY  MORGAN. 


Brown’s  counter,  and  a  little  later  its  venturous  young 
author  entered  her  house  unnoticed,  returned  her  bor¬ 
rowed  garments  to  their  place,  and  joined  the  Feather- 
stones  at  breakfast.  Next  day  she  went  with  the  family 
to  Bracklin,  having  forgotten  to  leave  her  address  with 
the  publisher. 

She  heard  no  more  of  St.  Clair,  until,  during  her  next 
visit  to  Dublin,  she  accompanied  Mrs.  Featherstone  to 
call  on  an  invalid  friend,  and  found  a  printed  copy  of  her 
novel  lying  upon  the  window  seat.  She  promptly  com¬ 
municated  with  Mr.  Brown,  who  presented  her  with  four 
copies — and  nothing  more.  The  book  had  some  success, 
and  was  even  translated  into  German  with  a  remarkable 
preface,  stating  that  the  writer  had  strangled  herself  with 
a  handkerchief  for  love.  She  afterwards  rewrote  it,  and 
the  new  version  was  published  in  England. 

She  left  the  Feathcrstones  in  1801,  and  in  1805  pub¬ 
lished  her  second  novel,  “The  Novice  of  St.  Dominic.” 
Iler  handwriting  was  extremely  illegible,  and  the  work 
(it  was  in  six  volumes)  was  copied  out  for  her  as  fast  as 
she  wrote  it  by  Francis  Crossley,a  youth  of  eighteen,  ono 
of  the  most  devoted  of  her  many  admirers.  The  book 
was  issued  in  London,  and  she  was  promptly  paid  for  it. 
Of  the  sum  she  received — her  first  literary  earnings — the 
greater  part  was  sent  to  her  father ;  the  rest  she  spent  in 
purchasing  a  winter  cloak  and  an  Irish  harp. 

Her  next  effort,  “  The  Wild  Irish  Girl,”  was  in  a  new 
vein.  It  treated  of  the  Irish  scenes  with  which  she  was 
familiar,  and  described  them  with  the  humor,  the  fervor, 
and  the  patriotic  feeling  that  marked  her  own  truly  Irish 
character.  The  plot  was  based  upon  an  incident  in  her 
own  life,  and  the  fact  that  public  opinion  identified  her 
with  her  heroine,  is  shown  by  the  letters  she  received 
from  her  friends,  in  which  she  is  quite  as  often  addressed 
by  the  name  of  Crljrvina,  as  by  that  of  Sydney.  Some 


LADY  MORGAN. 


97 


of  her  notes  from  Lord  Abercorn  begin  simply  “  Dear 
Little  Glo.”  The  book  had  an  immediate  and  triumphant 
success,  and  from  that  time  until  her  death  she  was  one 
of  the  most  conspicuous  figures  in  the  literature  and 
society  of  her  day. 

In  1810,  after  much  hesitation,  she  once  more  resigned 
her  liberty  to  accept  the  pressing  invitation  of  Lord  and 
Lady  Abercorn  to  become  a  member  of  their  household. 
This  decision  affected  the  course  of  her  whole  life,  since 
it  was  at  their  house  that  she  met  her  future  husband,  Sir 
Charles,  then  plain  Doctor  Morgan.  Lady  Abercorn,  a 
benevolent  but  not  very  adroit  woman,  equally  attached 
to  her  sprightly  companion  and  her  handsome  young 
physician,  soon  determined  to  arrange  a  match  between 
them.  It  was  sonic  time  before  they  met;  but  she  made 
such  good  use  of  her  opportunities  to  praise  each  to  the 
other,  that  Miss  Owenson  (at  her  request)  had  already 
written  a  humorous  mock  “Diploma  of  the  University  of 
Saint  Glorvina”for  the  doctor,  before  ever  seeing  him ; 
while  that  gentleman  on  his  part  conceived  so  deep  a 
prejudice  against  a  woman  whom  lie  pictured  as  an 
uncomfortable  paragon,  that  he  determined  to  avoid  her 
at  all  hazards.  But  fate  decreed  otherwise.  One  day,  as 
he  was  quietly  seated  talking  with  Lady  Abercorn,  the 
door  opened  and  a  servant  announced  “  Miss  Owenson.” 
lie  started  to  his  feet  at  once,  intent  upon  flight ;  there 
was  but  one  door  ;  and,  as  Miss  Owenson  entered  it,  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  dismayed  Doctor  just  escaping  by 
the  window. 

This  was  a  little  too  much  to  be  borne.  Her  vanity  Mas 
touched,  and  when  they  were  at  last  brought  together  she 
exerted  herself  to  the  utmost  to  please  him,  with  such 
alarming  success  that  he  fell  desperately  in  love  with  her ; 
and,  Lord  and  Lady  Abercorn  helping  him  to  urge  his 
suit,  he  was  engaged  to  her  at  the  end  of  a  month.  But 


LADY  MORGAN. 


9$ 

the  Wild  Irish  Girl  had  been  taken  by  surprise,  not  fairly 
won,  and  no  sooner  had  she  given  him  her  promise  than 
she  took  fright  at  the  terrible  suddenness  of  the  event. 
She  begged  leave  of  absence  to  visit  her  father,  who  was 
ill,  promising  to  come  back  in  a  fortnight,  although  she 
had  inwardly  resolved  to  remain  away  several  months  at 
Least,  if  ever  she  returned  at  all.  Indeed,  in  after  life 
she  used  frankly  to  say  that  for  her  perversity  at  this 
period  she  had  deserved  to  miss  marrying  the  best  hus¬ 
band  that  ever  woman  had. 

One  excuse  followed  another,  and  still  she  did  not 
come,  while  the  poor  Doctor  grew  every  day  more  angry 
and  miserable.  His  letters  to  her  are  filled  with  mingled 
reproach,  jealousy,  tenderness,  and  despair,  with  an  occa¬ 
sional  standing  on  liis  dignity  ;  hers  to  him  are  all  evasion, 
contradiction,  persuasion,  affection,  and  petulance.  The 
secret  of  the  situation  is  summoned  up  in  a  single  one  of 
her  sentences : 

“  There  was  so  much  of  force  in  the  commencement  of 
this  business,  that  my  heart  was  frightened  back  from  the 
course  it  would  naturally  have  taken.” 

She  returned  at  last,  but  even  then  she  would  set  no 
day  for  the  wedding,  and  finally  Lady  Abercorn  took  the 
matter  into  her  own  hands.  One  bitter  January  morning 
she  entered  the  library  where  her  intractable  protege  was 
seated  before  the  fire  in  her  morning  wrapper,  and  said, 
taking  her  by  the  arm  : 

“  Glorvina,  come  up  stairs  directly  and  be  married ; 
there  must  be  no  more  trifling.” 

Poor  Glorvina,  too  astonished  to  protest,  submitted 
meekly  to  be  led  into  another  room,  where  Sir  Charles 
(he  had  been  knighted  at  Lord  Abercorn’s  request)  stood 
awaiting  her,  in  company  with  a  chaplain  attired  in  full 
canonicals.  She  was  married  there  and  then,  and  not 
even  the  guests  in  the  house  knew  anything  about  it  until 


LADY  MORGAN. 


99 


several  days  later,  when  Lord  Abercorn,  after  dinner, 
filled  his  glass  and  invited  them  to  drink  to  the  health  of 
“  Sir  Charles  and  Lady  Morgan  !  ” 

Lady  Morgan’s  married  life  was  unusually  happy.  Her 
husband  was  devoted  to  her,  and,  far  from  being  jealous 
of  her  fast  increasing  fame,  was  extremely  proud  of  it, 
and  rendered  her  valuable  assistance  in  her  literary  labors. 

She  in  her  turn  always  noted  with  peculiar  pleasure 
any  complimentary  reference  to  his  medical  works,  for 
he,  too,  was  an  excellent  writer  in  his  own  province,  and 
rejoiced  in  the  attentions  paid  him. 

They  soon  became  familiar  figures  in  society,  where 
Lady  Morgan’s  agreeable  talents  had  always  made  her 
popular,  and  when  they  visited  the  continent  they  were 
received  at  once  into  the  most  brilliant  circles  of  Paris, 
Florence,  Rome,  and  Brussels.  In  her  “  France  ”  and 
Italy,”  Lady  Morgan  describes  in  her  usual  vivid  manner 
many  of  the  interesting  people  whom  they  met.  In 
France  she  associated  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the 
Marquise  do  Villette  (the  Belle  et  Bonne  of  Yoltaire), 
who  obtained  her  admission  to  the  order  of  Free  Masons. 
She  was  much  with  Talma,  who  gave  his  most  famous 
recitations  in  her  salon  ;  with  Humboldt,  of  whom  she 
always  speaks  with  reverent  affection  ;  and  with  that  most 
un-American  of  Americans,  Madame  Patterson-Bonaparte. 
To  us,  perhaps,  the  most  interesting  of  all  her  friends  is 
Lafayette.  She  gives  us  a  delightful  reminiscence  of  the 
Lafayette  family  at  La  Grange,  where  she  was  for  some 
time  a  favored  guest. 

“We  arrived  at  sunset  last  evening,”  she  wTrites,  “and 
the  old  tower  covered  with  the  ivy  planted  by  Charles 
Fox  shone  out  in  strong  relief  from  the  dark  woods 
behind ;  but  the  brightest  of  all  sunshine  was  the  dear 
Lafayette’s  own  noble  countenance,  beaming  with  smiles 
and  cordiality  as  he  stood  at  the  castle  gate  to  receive  us, 


IOO 


LADY  MOKGAN. 


surrounded  by  his  children  and  grandchildren  and  other 
members  of  his  family.” 

The  grandchildren  were  twelve  in  number;  yet  during 
the  whole  time  she  was  there,  Lady  Morgan  mentions 
that  she  never  heard  the  cry  of  a  child,  nor  observed  any 
symptoms  of  a  dispute.  Besides  this  large  family  there 
were  several  visitors  at  the  castle.  Two  American  gentle¬ 
men  were  there  ;  and  Carboncl,  who  composed  the  music 
for  Beranger’s  songs ;  and  Scheffer,  then  a  rising  young 
artist,  who  painted  Lady  Morgan’s  picture.  At  dinner, 
where  there  were  seldom  fewer  than  from  twenty  to  thirty 
guests,  Lafayette  was  always  placed  at  the  center  of  the 
table  between  his  two  youngest  grandchildren.  In  fine 
weather  they  spent  much  of  the  day  out  of  doors,  wander¬ 
ing  about  the  beautiful  grounds,  lying  upon  the  grass,  or 
fishing  in  the  pools. 

In  the  evening,  every  one  gathered  about  a  huge  wood 
fire,  roaring  upon  the  cavernous  stone  hearth,  and  listened 
to  Lafayette’s  anecdotes  of  historic  personages,  or  Lady 
Morgan’s  Irish  stories,  or  Carbonel’s  music.  Sometimes, 
in  one  of  Berangcr’s  spirited  songs  —  La  Sainte  Alliance 
was  a  great  favorite  —  the  whole  company  would  join  in 
the  chorus,  till  the  roof  rang. 

Sunday,  Lady  Morgan  tells  us,  was  always  a  peculiarly 
joyous  day  at  La  Grange. 

“  On  Sunday,”  she  writes  to  her  sister  Olivia,  “  there 
was  a  village  festival,  and  we  all  walked  down  to  the 
village  to  join  it.  It  was  completely  such  a  scene  as  one 
sees  at  the  opera.  The  villages  here  are  very  straggling, 
and  x-esemble  English  hamlets  rather  than  towns ;  but  the 
scene  of  action  was  principally  in  a  little  square  before 
the  gates  of  a  little  nunnery,  where  all  the  nuns  were 
assembled  in  their  habits,  in  the  midst  of  the  fun.  .  .  . 
The  beaux  had  their  hair  powdered  as  white  as  snow,  with 
immense  queues,  and  dimity  jackets  and  trousers :  the 


LADY  MORGAN. 


IOl 


women  in  such  caps  as  I  brought  over,  with  a  profusion 
of  lace,  gold  crosses,  white  gowns,  and  scarlet  aprons.  At 
four  o’clock  the  ball  began  on  the  green.  It  is  astonish¬ 
ing  to  see  with  what  perfection  men,  women,  and  children 
dance  the  quadrilles,  which  are  here  called  country  dances, 
and  how  serious  they  all  look.  We  left  them  hard  at  it, 
and  retired  to  dinner  at  five.  They  all  came  up  to  the 
General  to  speak  to  him.  He  shook  hands  with  all  the 
old  folk,  and  talked  to  them  of  their  farms.  It  was  one 
of  the  most  delightful  scenes  you  can  imagine.  My 
English  dress  excited  great  amazement,  especially  a  long 
grey  cloak  I  brought  from  London.  In  the  evening  there 
was  (as  there  is  every  Sunday  evening)  a  ball  at  the 
castle.  After  coffee  we  all  went  down  to  the  hall,  and 
there  children,  guests,  masters,  mistresses,  and  servants 
joined  together  in  the  dance,  as  they  had  done  in  the 
morning  at  prayers ;  for  there  is  a  chapel  belonging  to  the 
chateau,  where  the  priest  of  the  parish  officiates.  The  serv¬ 
ants  danced  in  the  quadrilles  —  six  femmes-de-chambre, 
and  all  the  lacqueys.  Oscar  and  Octavie,  the  two  young 
ones,  three  and  four  years  old,  danced  every  quadrille, 
and  never  once  were  out ;  in  short,  these  scenes  of 
innocence  and  gaiety  and  primitive  manners  are  daily 
repeated.” 

Lafayette  himself,  while  the  dancing  went  on,  “  stood 
looking  on  and  leaning  on  his  stick,  the  happiest  of  the 
happy.” 

The  books  which  Lady  Morgan  published  during  her 
married  life  —  including  the  novels  of  “O’Donnel”  and 
“Florence  McCarthy”  —  were  far  more  generally  read 
than  any  of  her  previous  works,  with  the  exception  of 
“  The  Wild  Irish  Girl.”  Her  career  was  one  of  almost 
uninterrupted  success  and  happiness,  until  the  death  ol 
her  husband  in  1843.  After  that,  although  her  wit  and 
mirth  remained  to  her,  there  was  always  a  certain  under- 


102 


LADY  MORGAN. 


tone  of  sorrow  in  Lady  Morgan’s  longer  letters ;  and,  as 
she  grew  older,  it  is  sad  to  find  her  noting  the  death  of 
one  old  friend  after  another,  always  with  a  few  words  of 
genuine  appreciation. 

She  was  fond  of  society  until  the  end,  and  on  St. 
Patrick’s  Day,  a  week  before  the  beginning  of  her  last 
illness,  she  gave  a  musical  morning  party,  of  which  she 
was  herself  the  life  and  soul. 

She  was  not  aware  until  the  last  that  her  illness  was 
serious,  and  she  dictated  cheerful  notes  to  her  friends 
relative  to  her  condition.  On  the  very  day  of  her  death 
she  called  for  her  desk  and  tried  to  write  a  letter,  but  was 
obliged  to  give  up  the  attempt.  Shortly  after,  her  breath 
began  to  fail  her,  and  she  turned  to  her  favorite  niece, 
who  was  supporting  her,  and  asked,  “  Sydney,  is  this 
death  ?” 

After  that  she  only  spoke  a  few  times  to  thank  her 
friends  and  her  servants,  who  were  also  her  friends,  for 
the  services  they  rendered  her.  She  died  quietly  and 
painlessly,  in  the  evening  of  April  16,  1859,  aged  about 
seventy-six  years. 

So  lived  and  so  died  the  Wild  Irish  Girl.  She  was  the 
joy  of  every  circle  she  entered,  and  her  works,  some  of 
which  are  still  read  with  pleasure,  form  an  agreeable  part 
of  the  record  of  her  time. 


MARIA  THERESA. 


UGHT  women  to  vote  ?  This  is  one  of  the  questions 


w  of  the  day.  Many  men  would  be  disposed  to  favor 
the  admission  of  women  to  the  ballot  but  for  one  objection. 
If,  say  they,  women  can  vote  for  President,  why  should 
they  not  be  eligible  to  the  office  of  President?  Very 
well ;  suppose  they  were.  When  we  consider  that  the  two 
greatest  empires  of  modern  times  have  been  governed  by 
women,  and  when  we  consider  also  how  many  of  the 
nations  of  the  earth  have  been  governed  badly  by  men, 
why  should  we  think  it  so  terrible  a  thing  to  have  a  woman 
at  the  head  of  this  Republic  ?  It  is  true,  we  are  not 
likely  to  witness  such  an  event,  but  if  it  should  occur, 
the  nation  would  probably  survive  it. 

Let  us  see  in  what  manner  the  great  Maria  Theresa 
ruled  for  forty  years  the  extensive  and  ill-assorted  empire 
of  Austria. 

Born  in  1717,  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Emperor, 
Charles  YI,  she  married  in  her  nineteenth  year,  Francis, 
the  Duke  of  Lorraine,  and  in  her  twenty-third  year,  upon 
the  death  of  her  father,  was  proclaimed  Empress  of  the 
sixteen  different  states  and  territories  which  made  up  the 
Austrian  empire.  Her  father  was  a  man  of  limited 
capacity,  though  of  respectable  character,  and  left  to  his 
daughter  an  empty  treasury,  a  small,  disorganized  army, 
and  a  disputed  succession.  Although  all  the  great  pow¬ 
ers,  during  the  lifetime  of  the  Emperor,  had  solemnly 
engaged  to  recognize  his  daughter  as  the  legitimate  heir, 


!°5 


106  MARIA  THERESA. 

no  sooner  had  the  news  of  his  death  spread  over  Europe, 
than  all  of  them,  except  the  King  of  England,  questioned 
her  claims,  and  several  of  them  took  measures  to  seize 
portions  of  her  inheritance.  It  was  the  general  opinion 
of  Europe  that  the  impoverished  empire,  under  the  sway 
of  a  young  woman,  would  fall  to  pieces  almost  of  itself, 
and  that  the  only  question  was,  respecting  the  division  of 
its  provinces  among  adjacent  states. 

While  the  other  powers  were  negotiating  and  arming  with 
a  view  to  the  dismemberment  of  Austria,  Frederick  II,  the 
young  King  of  Prussia,  availing  himself  of  the  splendid 
army  and  the  vast  treasures  accumulated  by  his  father, 
suddenly  invaded  the  Austrian  province  of  Silesia,  and 
marched  with  such  rapidity  that,  in  a  few  weeks,  he  had 
possessed  himself  of  almost  the  whole  province.  Fred¬ 
erick  then  offered  to  the  young  Empress  to  establish  her 
in  the  possession  of  all  her  other  states,  and  to  give  her 
a  subsidy  of  five  million  of  francs,  on  the  single  condition 
of  her  ceding  to  Prussia  the  province  of  Silesia,  which 
Frederick  claimed  as  rightfully  belonging  to  his  kingdom. 
Threatened  as  she  was  by  France,  Holland,  and  Spain, 
it  would  have  been  only  prudent  in  her  to  have  accepted 
this  offer.  But  with  the  Imperial  crown,  she  inherited 
also  an  Imperial  pride.  She  rejected  the  proposal  with 
as  much  promptitude  and  disdain,  as  though  she  hud 
been  the  mistress  of  powerful  armies  and  inexhaustible 
treasuries. 

In  this  extremity  she  repaired  to  Hungary,  where  the 
celebrated  scene  occurred  with  the  Diet  of  that  country. 
Presenting  to  the  assembled  nobles  her  infant  child,  she 
appealed  to  their  compassion  and  their  loyalty,  saying, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes : 

“  I  have  no  allies  but  you  in  the  world.” 

Whereupon,  her  husband  shouted  : 

“  Life  and  blood  for  our  Queen  and  kingdom.” 


MARIA  THERESA.  IOJ 

“  Yes,”  exclaimed  the  members  of  the  Diet,  “  our  life 
and  blood.” 

Some  timely  help,  too,  came  from  George  II  of 
England,  and  it  was  with  English  guineas  and  Hungarian 
horsemen  that  she  endeavored  to  expel  Frederick  from 
Silesia,  and  keep  at  bay  the  armies  of  France  and  Spain. 
Such  enthusiasm  was  there  for  her  in  England,  that  a 
public  subscription  was  started  for  her  benefit.  The 
Duchess  of  Marlborough  subscribed  the  extraordinary 
sum  of  forty  thousand  pounds  sterling,  and  other  ladies 
of  London  a  hundred  thousand  more  —  so  touched  were 
the  susceptible  hearts  of  the  English  people  at  the  spec¬ 
tacle  of  a  young  and  beautiful  woman  defending  her 
hereditary  rights  against  such  numerous  and  powerful 
eneinies.  The  Empress,  however,  thought  it  due  to  her 
dignity  to  decline  this  friendly  succor,  and  said  to  the 
ladies,  that  she  would  defend  her  states  by  the  help  of 
her  loyal  subjects  alone.  It  added  to  the  general  interest 
in  her  fortunes,  that  she  was  about  again  to  become  a 
mother,  and  knew  not,  as  she  said,  whether  there  would 
remain  to  her  a  city  in  which  she  could  give  birth  to  her 
child. 

Despite  the  heroic  efforts  of  the  Hungarians,  she  was 
compelled  to  yield  Silesia  to  the  King  of  Prussia  in  order 
to  detach  him  from  the  coalition  against  her.  She  then 
waged  successful  war  against  her  other  enemies  until,  in 
the  eighth  year  of  her  reign,  she  concluded  a  treaty  of 
peace  which  left  her  mistress  of  all  the  ancient  posses¬ 
sions  of  her  house,  excepting  alone  the  fine  province 
wrested  from  her  by  the  invincible  Frederick. 

After  this  eight  years  of  most  desperate  and  desolating 
warfare,  Maria  Theresa  enjoyed  a  precious  interval  of 
seven  years  of  peace  ;  which  is  about  the  duration  of  two 
presidential  terms.  Then  it  was  that,  for  the  first  time, 
she  could  display  the  gentler  and  benevolent  traits  of  her 


io8 


MARIA  THERESA. 


character.  She  employed  her  power  to  encourage  agri 
culture  and  reanimate  trade.  She  removed  tariffs  and 
other  barbarous  restrictions  from  the  commerce  with 
foreign  nations.  She  caused  new  and  better  roads  to  ba 
constructed.  She  decorated  her  capital  with  grand  and 
useful  edifices.  Directly  through  her  encouragement,  her 
subjects  began  to  manufacture  woolen  cloths,  silk,  and 
porcelain,  which  remain  to  this  day  important  branches 
of  the  national  industry.  Not  content  with  these  merely 
material  works,  she  founded  a  University,  several  colleges, 
schools  of  architecture  and  design,  and  three  observato¬ 
ries.  She  took  great  pains  to  make  her  subjects 
acquainted  with  improved  methods  of  healing  the  sick. 
For  the  old  soldiers  who  had  shed  their  blood  in  her 
cause,  she  erected  hospitals  and  asylums.  She  pensioned 
the  widows  and  dowered  the  daughters  of  officers  who 
had  fallen  in  war.  Above  all,  in  her  own  life,  and  in  the 
government  and  education  of  her  family,  she  set  an 
example  of  purity,  wisdom,  and  devotion,  which  every 
mother  in  the  world  could  study  with  profit.  She  did 
not  think  that  the  labors  of  governing  an  empire  exempted 
her  from  the  ordinary  responsibilities  of  life.  She  became 
the  mother  of  ten  children,  four  sons  and  six  daughters, 
all  of  whom  survived  her,  and  all  of  them,  I  believe,  did 
honor  to  the  character  of  their  mother. 

But  she  could  not  reconcile  herself  to  the  loss  of  her 
darling  Silesia.  Always  looking  forward  to  the  time 
when  she  should  be  in  a  position  to  recover  that  province, 
she  strengthened  and  disciplined  her  army  continually, 
and  founded  military  schools  where  officers  could  be 
trained  capable  of  coping  with  the  veterans  of  the  Prus¬ 
sian  king.  At  the  same  time  she  prepared  the  way,  by 
able  diplomacy,  to  combine  the  powers  of  Europe  against 
the  ambitious  Prussians.  She  stooped  even  to  flatter  the 
mistress  of  the  King  of  France,  Madame  de  Pompadour, 


MARIA  THERESA. 


IOg 

whom,  in  notes  still  existing,  she  styled  “  my  dear  friend.” 
The  great  Frederick,  on  the  contrary,  would  never  con¬ 
descend  to  notice,  officially,  the  existence  of  Madame  de 
Pompadour,  and  made  her  his  bitter  foe  by  his  contemptu¬ 
ous  silence  and  stinging  sarcasm.  He  used  to  call  her 
“  Petticoat  III,”  in  allusion  to  the  fact  that  she  was  the 
third  mistress  of  Louis  XV ;  and  there  were  always 
about  the  two  courts  busy  adherents  of  the  Empress  to 
convey  to  the  ears  of  Pompadour  the  sneering  wit  of  the 
Prussian  monarch. 

By  such  arts,  and  others  more  legitimate,  Maria  Theresa 
united  against  Frederick  the  sovereigns  of  France,  Eng¬ 
land,  Russia,  and  of  several  of  the  States  of  Germany, 
not  doubting  for  a  moment  that  a  kingdom  of  five  mil¬ 
lions  of  souls  must  of  necessity  succumb  before  a  com¬ 
bination  of  States,  the  united  population  of  which  was 
more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  millions. 

But  she  did  not  know  her  enemy.  Informed  of  the 
secret  treaty  for  the  destruction  of  his  kingdom  and  its 
division  among  his  enemies,  Frederick  suddenly  marched 
with  sixty  thousand  men,  and  overran  Saxony  and  Bohe¬ 
mia,  and  thus  began  the  famous  Seven  Years’  War, 
which  only  ended  when  the  enemies  of  Frederick, 
exhausted  of  men  and  money,  were  compelled  to  leave 
him  in  peaceful  possession  of  the  province  he  had  seized. 
It  must  be  avowed,  however,  that,  in  all  probability, 
Frederick  would  have  been  overwhelmed  and  finally 
defeated,  but  for  the  accession  to  the  throne  of  Russia  of 
Peter  III.  This  emperor  had  conceived  such  a  passionate 
admiration  of  the  character  and  exploits  of  the  Prussian 
king  that  the  moment  he  came  upon  the  throne  he  aban¬ 
doned  the  coalition,  and  withdrew  his  armies  from  the 
seat  of  war.  This  event  occurred  in  the  very  nick  of 
time.  It  relieved  Frederick  and  completed  the  discour¬ 
agement  of  his  enemies. 


I  IO 


MARIA  THERESA. 


After  the  restoration  of  peace,  Maria  Theresa  renewed 
her  exertions  for  the  welfare  of  her  people.  Though  a 
devout  Roman  Catholic,  she  resisted  the  efforts  of  the 
Pope  to  control  the  ecclesiastical  affairs  of  her  empire, 
and  so  checked  the  power  of  the  Inquisition  that  her 
successors  were  able  to  suppress  that  terrible  institution. 
One  of  her  best  acts  was  the  abolition  of  torture  in  the 
administration  of  justice — a  reform  which  was  greatly 
due  to  the  eloquent  and  pathetic  denunciations  of  Vol¬ 
taire.  At  that  time,  in  almost  every  country,  criminals 
were  put  to  the  torture,  either  to  compel  them  to  confess 
their  own  guilt  or  to  reveal  the  names  of  their  accom¬ 
plices.  The  unhappy  prisoner,  pale  and  trembling  with 
terror,  was  conducted  to  a  vault  underground,  and  there, 
in  the  presence  of  a  magistrate  and  recording  clerks,  he 
was  subjected  to  increasing  degrees  of  anguish,  until  the 
attending  surgeon  decided  that  he  could  bear  no  more 
without  danger  of  his  life.  Many  poor  wretches,  to  gain 
a  moment’s  respite  from  agony,  accused  innocent  persons, 
who,  denying  their  guilt,  were  in  turn  subjected  to  the 
same  infernal  cruelty.  The  first  monarch  of  continental 
Europe  to  abolish  this  most  irrational  and  horrid  system 
was  Frederick  the  Great ;  the  second  was  Catherine  II, 
of  Russia;  the  third  was  Maria  Theresa;  the  fourth  was 
Louis  XVI,  of  France.  Readers  may  remember  that 
v  hen  the  benevolent  Howard  made  his  tours  among  the 
jails  of  Europe,  about  the  time  of  the  American  Revolu¬ 
tion,  he  found  the  torture  chamber  in  almost  every  city 
that  he  visited,  and  in  many  of  them  it  was  still  employed. 

It  used  to  be  considered  a  stain  upon  the  administra 
tion  of  the  Empress  Maria  Theresa  that  she  consented  to 
the  dismemberment  of  Poland,  and  to  accept  a  large  por¬ 
tion  of  that  country  as  her  share  of  the  spoil.  More 
recent  writers,  however,  who  have  looked  into  that  affair 
closely,  are  disposed  to  think  the  act  justifiable  and  even 


MARIA  THERESA. 


I  I  I 

necessary.  One  thing  is  pretty  certain  ;  if  a  country  can 
be  dismembered,  it  soon  will  be,  unless  it  is  the  interest 
of  some  great  power  or  powers  to  protect  it. 

Mary  Theresa  died  in  1780,  aged  63,  bequeathing  to 
her  son,  Joseph,  an  empire  far  more  united,  prosperous, 
and  powerful  than  the  Austria  which  she  inherited  from 
her  father.  When  the  news  of  her  death  was  brought  to 
Frederick,  the  greatest  of  her  enemies,  he  wrote  to  his 
friend,  D’Alembert,  the  French  author : 

“  I  have  shed  some  very  sincere  tears  at  her  death. 
She  has  done  honor  to  her  sex  and  to  the  throne.  I  have 
made  war  upon  her,  but  I  have  never  been  her  enemy.” 

Of  the  female  sovereigns  of  Europe  in  modern  times, 
Maria  Theresa  was,  probably,  the  ablest  and  the  most 
virtuous.  Her  errors  were  those  of  her  rank  and  blood  ; 
her  good  actions  were  the  result  of  her  own  noble  heart 
and  generous  mind.  Austria  still  styles  her  the  Mother 
of  her  country,  and  remembers  with  fondness  one  of  her 
sayings : 

“  I  reproach  myself  for  the  time  I  consume  in  sleep ; 
it  is  so  much  taken  away  from  the  service  of  my  people.” 


LADY  FRANKLIN. 


HREE  women  have  a  claim  to  be  associated  with 


JL  the  name  of  Sir  John  Franklin.  The  lady  whom 
he  first  married,  Miss  Eleanor  Porden,  is  one  of  them. 
It  was  she  who,  knowing  how  fatal  a  brief  delay  may  be 
to  an  arctic  expedition,  bade  her  husband  set  sail  for  the 
northern  seas  at  the  appointed  time,  although  she  was 
then  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption.  He  sailed,  and  it 
proved  to  be  her  last  wish  that  he  obeyed,  for  she  died 
the  day  after  his  departure. 

His  second  wife  was  the  Lady  Franklin  of  whom  all 
the  world  has  heard.  It  was  to  her  untiring  efforts  (in 
all  of  which  she  was  devotedly  aided  by  Sir  John’s  niece, 
the  late  Miss  Sophia  Cracroft),  that  the  solution  to  the 
mystery  which  so  long  shrouded  the  fate  of  the  explorer 
and  his  ill-starred  vessels,  was  due. 

Lady  Franklin,  whose  maiden  name  was  Jane  Griffin, 
was  born  in  1794,  and  was  married  to  Sir  John  Franklin 
in  1828,  when  she  was  thirty-four  years  of  age.  Ten 
years  later  she  accompanied  him  to  Van  Dieman’s  Land, 
(now  Tasmania,)  of  which  he  had  been  appointed  gov¬ 
ernor.  She  early  gained  the  good  will  of  the  inhabitants, 
and  was  noted  among  them  both  for  her  many  deeds  of 
private  beneficence,  and  for  the  active,  efficient  aid  which 
she  rendered  her  husband  in  his  public  duties.  She 
showed  especial  interest  in  the  welfare  of  poor  emigrants, 
and  of  the  convicts  who,  after  transportation  to  New  South 
Wales  was  abolished,  were  sent  to  Tasmania  from  all 


112 


LADY  FRANKLIN’, 


LADY  FRANKLIN. 


US 

parts  of  the  British  Empire.  That  Sir  John  and  Lady 
Franklin  acquired,  not  only  the  approval, but  the  affection  of 
the  colonists,  is  shown  by  the  comments  of  the  local  press 
upon  their  departure  for  England  at  the  expiration  of 
Sir  John’s  administration.  A  few  years  later  Lady 
Franklin  had  llie  melancholy  pleasure  of  receiving  from 
them  a  large  sum  of  money  to  assist  her  in  prosecuting 
her  search  for  her  lost  husband  and  the  records  of  his 
expedition,  and  they  further  testified  their  remembrance  of 
him  by  erecting  a  statue  in  his  honor  at  Hobart  Town. 

Sir  John’s  success  as  an  arctic  discoverer  led  the 
English  government  in  1845  to  offer  him  the  command 
of  an  expedition  to  sail  in  search  of  the  Northwest  pas¬ 
sage,  a  duty  which  he  gladly  accepted.  Two  ships,  the 
“  Erebus”  and“  Terror,”  were  provided,  and  an  additional 
transport  to  convey  stores  as  far  as  Disco,  in  Greenland. 
These  three  vessels  sailed  from  Greenhithe  on  the  nine¬ 
teenth  of  May. 

The  “  Erebus  ”  and  “  Terror,”  which  were  fine  ships 
fitted  expressly  for  arctic  service,  and  victualled  for  three 
years,  were  last  seen  in  Baffin’s  Bay  by  a  whaler,  lying 
moored  to  an  iceberg.  All  was  then  going  well.  In 
letters  written  home  a  few  days  previous  to  this,  the 
officers  of  the  expedition  expressed  ardent  hope  and  per¬ 
fect  confidence  in  their  commander,  while  Sir  John  him¬ 
self,  writing  to  Lady  Franklin,  assured  her  cheerfully  of 
his  well-being,  and  dwelt  upon  the  future  with  joyous 
anticipations  of  success.  Not  one  of  his  hundred  and 
thirty-four  officers  and  men  lived  to  return. 

At  the  end  of  two  years,  nothing  further  having  been 
heard  from  the  expedition,  preparations  were  begun  for 
the  too  probable  necessity  of  sending  them  assistance. 
As  time  passed  the  feeling  of  uneasiness  deepened,  and 
at  last  was  begun  that  noble  series  of  attempts  made  by 
both  English  and  Americans,  which  resulted  after  four¬ 
teen  years  only  in  the  sad  discovery  of  the  truth. 


LADY  FRANKLIN. 


I  16 

In  1848  three  expeditions,  expensively  fitted  out  and 
ably  commanded,  were  sent  by  the  government  in  search 
of  the  missing  explorers.  They  all  failed  ;  but  the  failure 
did  not  cause  discouragement  cither  to  the  government 
or  the  people  of  England.  It  served  instead  as  a  spur, 
urging  them  to  new  efforts,  made  on  a  scale  that  would 
insure  success.  The  first  step  was  taken  by  the  Lords 
of  the  Admiralty,  who  in  March,  1849,  offered  a  reward 
of  twenty  thousand  pounds  to  any  man  or  party  who 
should  render  efficient  aid  to  Sir  John  Franklin  or  his 
men.  A  second  reward  of  three  thousand  pounds  was 
offered  by  Lady  Franklin,  who  also,  at  her  own  expense, 
sent  a  supply  of  coal  and  provisions  to  be  deposited  on 
the  coast  of  Lancaster  Sound.  These  were  landed  upon 
the  conspicuous  promontory  of  Cape  Hay,  for  the  use  of 
the  missing  party,  should  they  visit  that  region.  She  had 
already  sent,  by  a  ship  of  one  of  the  earlier  expeditions, 
a  large  quantity  of  similar  stores,  which  had  been  buried 
at  prominent  points  along  the  coast,  the  place  being 
marked  in  each  case  by  a  tall  signal  post,  with  an  arrow 
painted  upon  it,  pointing  out  the  exact  spot  where  the 
articles  were  concealed. 

It  was  in  this  year  also  that  she  addressed  to  the  Presi¬ 
dent  of  the  United  States  her  well-known  appeal,  in  which 
she  called  upon  the  Americans  as  a  “  kindred  people  to 
join  heart  and  hand  in  the  enterprise  of  snatching  the 
lost  navigators  from  a  dreary  grave.”  After  referring  to 
the  reward  offered  by  the  British  Government,  she  said : 

“  This  announcement,  which,  even  if  the  sum  offered 
had  been  doubled  or  trebled,  would  have  met  with  public 
approbation,  comes,  however,  too  late  for  our  whalers 
which  had  unfortunately  sailed  before  it  was  issued,  and 
which,  even  if  the  news  should  overtake  them  at  their 
fishing  grounds,  are  totally  unfitted  for  any  prolonged 
adventure,  having  only  a  few  months’  provisions  on  board, 


LADY  FRANKLIN. 


II 7 

and  no  additional  clothing.  To  the  American  whalers, 
both  in  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific,  I  look  with  more  hope 
as  competitors  for  the  prize,  being  well  aware  of  their 
number  and  strength,  their  thorough  equipment,  and  the 
bold  spirit  of  enterprise  that  animates  their  crews.  But 
1  venture  to  look  even  beyond  these.  I  am  not  without 
hope  that  you  will  deem  it  not  unworthy  of  a  great  and 
kindred  nation  to  take  up  the  cause  of  humanity  in  which 
I  plead  in  a  national  spirit,  and  tln.s  generously  make  it 
your  own.” 

The  Secretary  of  State,  Mr.  Clayton,  at  once  sent  an 
encouraging  reply  to  Lady  Franklin,  and  President  Taylor, 
calling  the  attention  of  Congress  to  the  matter  in  a  special 
message,  stated  his  earnest  desire  that  all  possible  assist¬ 
ance  should  be  rendered.  lie  had  already  caused  notice 
of  the  rewards  offered,  and  information  regarding  the 
probable  means  of  finding  the  lost  vessels,  to  be  circulated 
among  whalers  and  seafaring  men  all  over  the  country. 
Popular  feeling  favored  Lady  Franklin  and  her  cause, 
and  when  Mr.  Henry  Grinnell  of  New  York  offered  to 
provide  two  fully  equipped  vessels  at  his  own  expense, 
asking  only  that  the  government  would  transfer  to  them 
some  thirty  men  from  the  navy,  there  was  a  general 
desire  that  the  proposition  should  be  accepted.  Memo¬ 
rials  to  that  effect  were  sent  to  Congress  from  the  cities 
of  New  York  and  Philadelphia.  The  matter  was  not 
decided,  however,  for  a  year. 

In  1850  the  two  Grinnell  vessels,  the  “  Advance  ”  and 
“  Rescue,”  sailed  under  the  command  of  Lieutenant  De 
Haven.  In  the  same  year  and  for  the  same  purpose  there 
went  from  England,  in  all,  ten  other  vessels.  Of  these 
two,  the  “  Lady  Franklin,”  a  fine  vessel  of  two  hundred  and 
twenty  tons,  and  the“  Sophia”  (named  after  Miss  Cracroft), 
a  brig  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  tons,  were  fitted  out  at 
Lady  Franklin’s  desire  and  mainly  at  her  own  expense. 


1 18 


LADY  FRANKLIN. 


They  were  placed  under  the  command  of  Captain  Penny. 
A  third  vessel,  the  “  Prince  Albert,”  was  paid  for  by  Lady 
Franklin  and  her  friends.  She  defrayed  two-thirds  of  the 
expense  by  means  of  selling  out  of  the  funds  all  the 
money  which  she  could  legally  dispose  of.  The  com¬ 
mander  of  the  “Albert  ”  was  Captain  Forsyth,  who  volun¬ 
teered  for  the  service  and  would  accept  no  pay.  Indeed, 
the  number  of  volunteers  who  desired  no  other  compensa¬ 
tion  than  the  honor  of  aiding  in  tho  search  was  a  marked 
feature  in  the  long  scries  of  arctic  voyages  made  with 
the  intent  of  learning  Sir  John  Franklin’s  fate. 

The  result  of  (he  daring  and  persistent  explorations  of 
these  twelve  vessels  may  be  summed  up  in  a  few  words. 
Captain  Ommaney,  commanding  the  “Assistance,”  dis¬ 
covered  at  Beachy  Head  traces  of  an  encampment  which 
lie  supposed  to  be  Franklin’s.  Lieutenant  De  Haven, 
of  the  American  expedition,  landed  and  confirmed  the 
discovery.  Captain  Penny  of  tho  “  Lady  Franklin  ”  visited 
(he  same  place,  explored  it  thoroughly,  and  found  all  tho 
indications  of  a  winter  encampment,  and  the  graves  of 
three  of  Franklin’s  men.  The  dates  upon  tho  headboards 
showed  that  the  party  had  been  there  during  the  winter 
of  1845-G — that  is,  the  first  winter  after  leaving  England. 

In  the  summer  of  1851  the  twelve  vessels  returned 
home,  one  after  another.  The  “  Prince  Albert,”  however, 
was  not  allowed  to  remain  long  in  English  waters.  Lady 
Franklin  caused  her  to  be  elaborately  and  expensively 
refitted,  her  bow  and  stern  sheathed  with  wrought  iron, 
her  sides  protected  by  planking,  and  sent  her  forth  again 
to  brave  the  perils  of  the  North.  She  sailed  in  June, 
1851,  from  Stromness,  and  Lady  Franklin  herself  came 
down  to  see  her  off.  After  a  touching  farewell  to  officers 
and  men,  sue  watched  her  standing  out  to  sea,  the  Union 
Jack  streaming  from  her  peak  and  the  French  flag  flying 
at  the  fore.  This  was  in  honor  of  Lieutenant  Bellot 


LADY  FRANKLIN. 


up 

(second  in  command),  a  young  Frenchman  whom  a 
romantic  love  of  adventure  had  led  to  leave  his  native 
country  and  offer  his  services  to  Lady  Franklin. 

In  1852  the  English  government  sent  out  another  expe¬ 
dition  of  five  vessels  under  the  command  of  Sir  Edward 
Belcher.  In  the  same  year,  in  consequence  of  a  rumor 
received  through  an  Esquimaux  interpreter,  that  Sir  John 
and  his  crews  had  been  murdered  at  Wolstenholme 
Sound,  Lady  Franklin  refitted  the  screw  steamer  “  Isabel  ” 
and  sent  her  to  investigate  the  report,  which  proved  to  be 
wholly  false.  The  next  year  this  steamer  was  again 
refitted  at  her  expense,  and  carried  supplies  to  Captains 
Collinson  and  M’Clurc  of  the  government  expedition  at 
Behring  Strait. 

But  it  was  not  untill  1854  that  further  authentic  tidings 
were  obtained  of  the  missing  explorers.  In  that  year 
Dr.  Rae,  at  the  head  of  a  land  party  sent  by  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  learned  from  the  Esquimaux  that,  in  1850, 
about  forty  white  men  had  been  seen  dragging  a  boat 
near  the  north  shore  of  King  William’s  Island,  and  that, 
later  in  the  season,  they  had  all  died  from  cold  and 
hunger.  The  story  was  confirmed  by  the  finding  among 
the  Esquimaux  of  articles  once  the  property  of  Sir  John 
and  his  officers,  all  of  which  Dr.  Rae  secured  and  brought 
back  with  him.  He  obtained  the  reward  of  ten  thousand 
pounds  offered  by  the  Admiralty  to  whomsoever  should 
first  ascertain  the  fate  of  the  missing  expedition.  A 
search  party  sent  next  year  by  the  government  to  the 
spot  mentioned  by  the  Esquimaux,  recovered  many 
further  relics. 

Lady  Franklin  was  not  satisfied.  She  had  given  up 
all  hope  of  her  husband’s  life.  He  had  been  ten  years 
lost ;  his  party  was  provisioned  for  but  three  years  ;  and 
he  was  sixty  years  old  when  he  sailed.  But  her  feelings 
did  not  permit  her  to  rest  until  she  had  rescued  any  possi- 


120 


LADY  FRANKLIN. 


ble  survivor  and  recovered  the  records  of  the  expedition, 
if  they  yet  existed.  She  appealed  to  Lord  Palmerston  to 
make  one  further  attempt.  In  her  memorial  she  dwelt  with 
especial  emphasis  upon  the  incident  of  the  “  Resolute,” 
abandoned  by  the  English  during  a  government  search 
expedition,  found  by  an  American  whaler,  refitted,  and 
presented  by  Congress  to  the  Queen. 

“  My  Lord,”  she  says,  “  you  will  not  let  this  rescued  and 
restored  ship,  emblematic  of  so  many  enlightened  and 
generous  sentiments,  fail  even  partially  in  her  signifi¬ 
cant  mission.  I  venture  to  hope  that  she  will  be 
accepted  in  the  spirit  in  which  she  is  sent.  I  humbly 
trust  that  the  American  people,  and  especially  that  phil¬ 
anthropic  citizen  who  has  spent  so  largely  of  his  private 
fortune  in  the  search  for  the  lost  ships,  and  to  whom 
was  committed  by  his  government  the  entire  charge  of 
the  equipment  of  the  ‘  Resolute,’  will  be  rewarded  for 
this  signal  act  of  sympathy  by  seeing  her  restored  to  her 
original  vocation,  so  that  she  may  bring  back  from  the 
Arctic  seas,  if  not  some  living  remnant  of  our  long-lost 
countrymen,  yet  at  least  the  proofs  that  they  have  nobly 
perished.” 

She  adds,  that  should  her  request  be  denied,  she  will 
herself  send  out  a  vessel.  The  Government,  busy  with 
affairs  in  the  east,  was  not  willing  to  fit  out  another  expe¬ 
dition. 

She  kept  her  word.  The  last  and  most  successful  of 
this  long  series  of  adventures  and  perilous  searches,  was 
due  solely  to  her  heroic  persistence.  Aided  by  subscrip¬ 
tions  from  her  friends,  she  bought  and  refitted  for  Arctic 
service  the  screw  yacht  “Fox.”  Captain  M’Clintock. 
already  distinguished  in  former  search  expeditions,  was 
placed  in  command  of  her,  and  she  sailed  upon  the  last 
day  of  June,  1857.  Lady  Franklin,  accompanied  by  Miss 
Cracroft,  came  on  board  to  bid  the  officers  farewell. 


LADY  FRANKLIN. 


1 2 1 


Captain  M’Clintock,  observing  her  agitation,  tried  to 
repress  the  enthusiasm  of  his  men,  but  in  vain.  As  she 
left  the  vessel  she  was  saluted  by  the  crew  with  three 
prolonged,  thundering  cheers. 

Her  letter  of  instruction  to  Captain  M’Clintock  i3  so 
characteristic  that  I  give  it  in  full : 

“  My  dear  Captain  3T  Clintock : 

“  You  have  kindly  invited  me  to  give  you  ‘  instructions,’ 
but  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  feel  that  it  would  be  right 
in  me  in  any  way  to  influence  your  judgment  in  the  con¬ 
duct  of  your  noble  undertaking;  and  indeed  I  have  no 
temptation  to  do  so,  since  it  appears  to  me  that  your 
views  are  almost  identical  with  those  which  I  had  inde¬ 
pendently  formed  before  I  had  the  advantage  of  being 
thoroughly  possessed  of  yours.  But  had  this  been  other¬ 
wise,  I  trust  you  would  have  found  me  ready  to  prove 
the  implicit  confidence  I  place  in  you  by  yielding  my  own 
views  to  your  more  enlightened  judgment ;  knowing,  too, 
as  I  do,  that  your  whole  heart  also  is  in  the  cause,  even 
as  my  own  is.  As  to  the  objects  of  the  expedition  and 
their  relative  importance,  I  am  sure  you  know  that  the 
rescue  of  any  possible  survivor  of  the  ‘  Erebus  ’  and 
‘  Terror  *  would  be  to  me,  as  it  would  to  you,  the  noblest 
result  cf  our  efforts. 

“  To  this  object  I  wish  every  other  to  be  subordinate  ; 
and,  next  to  it  in  importance,  is  the  recovery  of  the 
unspeakably  precious  documents  of  the  expedition,  pub¬ 
lic  and  private,  and  the  personal  relics  of  my  dear  hus¬ 
band  and  his  companions. 

“  And  lastly,  I  trust  it  may  be  in  your  power  to  confirm, 
directly  or  inferentially,  the  claims  of  my  husband’s  expe¬ 
dition  to  the  earliest  discovery  of  the  passage,  which*  if 
Dr.  Rae’s  report  be  true  (and  the  Government  of  our 
country  has  accepted  and  rewarded  it  as  such),  these 
martyrs  in  a  noble  cause  achieved  at  their  last  extremity 
8 


I  22 


LADY  FUANKLIN. 


after  five  long  years  of  labor  and  suffering,  if  not  an 

earlier  period. 

“  I  am  sure  you  will  do  all  that  man  can  do  for  the 
attainment  of  all  these  objects  ;  my  only  fear  is  that  you 
may  spend  yourselves  too  much  in  the  effort;  and  you 
must  therefore  let  me  tell  you  how  much  dearer  to  me 
even  than  any  of  them  is  the  preservation  of  the  valuable 
lives  of  the  little  band  of  heroes  who  are  your  compan¬ 
ions  and  followers. 

“  May  God  in  his  great  mercy  preserve  you  all  from 
harm  amidst  the  labors  and  perils  which  await  you,  and 
restore  you  to  us  in  health  and  safety,  as  well  as  honor ! 
As  to  the  honor  I  can  have  no  misgiving.  It  will  he 
yours  as  much  if  you  fail  (since  you  may  fail  in  spite  of 
every  effort)  as  if  you  succeed;  and  be  assured  that, 
under  any  and  all  circumstances  whatever ,  such  is  my 
unbounded  confidence  in  you,  you  will  ever  possess  and 
be  entitled  to  the  enduring  gratitude  of  your  sincere 
and  attached  friend,  Jane  Franklin.” 

The  confidence  expressed  in  this  letter  was  not  mis¬ 
placed.  Captain  M’Clintock’s  heart  was  indeed  in  the 
work,  and  his  enthusiasm  was  shared  alike  by  officers 
and  crew.  It  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to  them  all 
when  in  August  their  vessel  was  caught  in  the  ice  in 
Melville  Bay,  and  they  were  obliged  to  remain  in  the 
pack,  drifting  with  it  when  it  drifted,  until  the  next  spring. 
During  this  long  detention  Lady  Franklin  was  often  in 
their  thoughts,  and  they  spoke  sorrowfully  of  the  grief 
she  would  experience  when  she  learned  of  the  delay. 
The  feeling  of  the  crew  towards  her  was  described  by 
Captain  M’Clintock  as  “  veneration.”  She  was  remembered 
on  all  their  holidays,  and  at  their  Christmas  dinner  her 
health  and  that  of  Miss  Cracroft  were  drunk  with  accla¬ 
mations.  It  was  also  unanimously  resolved,  after  the 


LADY  FRANKLIN. 


123 


killing  of  the  first  bear,  that  its  skin  should  he  presented 
to  her  as  a  joint  gift  from  the  officers  and  crew,  all  of 
whom  had  assisted  in  the  hunt. 

At  last  the  “  Pox  ”  escaped  from  the  ice  and  proceeded 
upon  her  way.  In  May,  1859,  one  of  her  officers,  Lieu¬ 
tenant  Hobson,  discovered  a  cairn  containing  a  record  of 
t be  lost  expedition.  This  record  consisted  of  a  note, 
written  in  1847,  stating  their  success  up  to  that  time,  and 
adding  that  all  were  well.  But  around  the  margin  another 
hand,  writing  a  year  later,  gave  a  sadly  different  story. 

Prom  this  writer,  who  was  Captain  Fitzjames,  we  learn 
that  Sir  John  Franklin  died  June  eleventh,  1847,  and 
that  in  April  of  the  next  year,  only  two  days  before  the 
date  of  this  record,  the  “Erebus”  and  “Terror”  were 
abandoned,  and  their  crews  landed  under  the  command 
of  Captain  Crozier.  A  note  in  Captain  Crozier's  hand¬ 
writing  added  that  they  were  to  start  the  next  day  for 
Back’s  Fish  River. 

To  this  river,  accordingly,  the  searchers  of  the  “  Fox  ” 
proceeded  ;  and  there  they  found  numerous  relics  of  the 
party,  including  silver  articles  marked  with  Sir  John 
Franklin’s  crest,  a  boat,  watches,  clothing,  and  several 
skeletons.  The  Esquimaux  of  the  region  remembered 
the  coming  of  these  strangers,  and  said  that  all  of  them 
had  perished  of  cold  and  hunger ;  which  was,  indeed,  but 
too  evident. 

“  They  would  fall  down  and  die  as  they  walked  along 
the  ice,”  said  an  oi  l  Esquimaux  woman  to  Captain 
M’Clintock. 

With  this  news  the  “  Fox”  returned  to  England.  Sad 
as  the  certainty  was,  it  must  have  been  a  relief  to  Lady 
Franklin  to  receive  it.  She  learned  from  the  earlier  of 
the  two  notes  in  the  cairn,  that  her  husband  had  attained 
the  great  object  of  his  expedition  ;  he  had  discovered  the 
Northwest  Passage.  From  the  second  note  she  learned 


124 


LADY  FRANKLIN. 


that  it  had  been  his  great  good  fortune  to  die  on  board 
his  ship,  escaping  all  the  horrors  of  that  terrible  overland 
march.  Indeed,  he  died  before  the  expedition  had 
experienced  anything  other  than  brilliant  and  striking 
success. 

In  1860,  Lady  Franklin  was  presented  with  a  gold 
medal  by  the  Royal  Geographical  Society.  She  died  in 
1875.  The  monument  erected  to  her  husband  in  West¬ 
minster  Abbey  records,  after  his  exploits  and  his  fate,  her 
name,  her  devotion,  the  date  of  her  death,  and  tha 
inseparable  connection  of  her  fame  with  his. 


MADAME  DE  MIRAMION. 


HARITY  is  of  no  age,  race,  or  country.  Travelers 


among  the  most  savage  tribes  find  kind  and  com¬ 
passionate  hearts,  and  some  of  the  most  excellent  institu¬ 
tions  of  benevolence  have  been  founded  in  times  of  the 
grossest  corruption  of  manners  and  morals.  In  the  worst 
periods'  there  are  always  some  who  preserve  their  integrity, 
and  assert  by  their  conduct  the  dignity  of  human  nature. 

Madame  de  Miramion,  a  French  lady  of  rank  and 
fortune,  born  in  1629,  passed  the  whole  of  her  life  near 
the  showy  and  licentious  court  of  Louis  XIY,  and  in  the 
society  of  Paris,  when  that  society  was  most  devoted  to 
pleasure.  But  from  her  childhood  she  was  drawn 
irresistibly  to  a  nobler  life,  and  she  spent  the  greater  part 
of  her  existence  in  alleviating  human  anguish,  and  found¬ 
ing  institutions  which  have  continued  the  same  beneficent 
office  ever  since.  A  beauty  and  an  heiress,  she  turned 
away  from  the  pleasures  of  her  circle  at  the  age  when 
they  are  usually  most  alluring.  At  nine  years  of  age  the 
death  of  her  mother,  a  woman  devoted  to  piety  and  good 
works,  saddened  her  life  and  made  her  for  a  while  morbid 
in  her  feelings.  In  the  midst  of  a  gay  and  brilliant  circle 
of  relations  and  friends,  the  child  was  moody,  sorrowful, 
and  averse  to  society. 

“I  think  constantly  of  death,”  she  said  one  day  to  her 
governess,  “  and  ask  myself,  should  I  like  to  die  ?  should 
I  like  to  die  at  this  moment  ?  ” 

The  governess  encouraged  these  feelings,  and  dissuaded 


126 


MADAME  DE  MIRAMION. 


the  child  from  indulging  in  the  sports  proper  to  her  years, 
telling  her  of  eminent  saints  who  denied  themselves  all 
pleasures,  and  even  inflicted  pain  upon  themselves  by 
wearing  hair  shirts  and  girdles  of  iron.  She  saved  her 
money,  bought  secretly  a  thick  iron  chain,  and  wore  it 
around  her  waist  next  her  skin,  whenever  she  thought  she 
might  be  in  danger  of  becoming  too  much  interested  in 
pleasure.  This  was,  indeed,  a  common  practice  in  France 
two  hundred  years  ago.  Like  Florence  Nightingale,  she 
had,  even  in  her  childhood,  a  remarkable  love  of  nursing 
and  amusing  the  sick.  In  a  large  household,  such  as  the 
one  of  which  she  was  a  part,  there  are  always  some 
invalids,  and  it  was  her  delight,  during  her  play  hours,  to 
steal  away  to  their  bedrooms  to  entertain  them  by  read¬ 
ing,  and  assist  in  taking  care  of  them.  She  would  even 
glide  from  the  ball-room  on  festive  occasions  to  visit  a 
sick  servant,  happier  to  mitigate  suffering  than  to  enjoy 
pleasure. 

When  she  was  fourteen  her  father  died,  leaving  her,  an 
orphan  and  an  heiress,  to  the  care  of  an  ambitious  aunt, 
whose  only  thought  concerning  her  was  to  secure  her  a 
brilliant  match  and  see  her  distinguished  in  society.  The 
young  lady  had  no  such  thoughts.  Grief-stricken  at  the 
loss  of  her  father,  and  weaned  from  fashionable  pleasure 
still  more  by  that  event,  she  would  have  entered  a  con¬ 
vent,  if  she  had  not  felt  that  she  must  be  a  mother  to  her 
younger  brothers.  For  their  sakcs  the  continued  iii  the 
world.  Her  aunt,  to  dispel  what  she  deemed  the  gloomy 
thoughts  of  an  unformed  girl,  endeavored  to  distract  her 
mind  by  causing  her  to  be  presented  at  court,  by  taking 
her  often  to  the  theatre,  and  making  parties  for  her 
entertainment.  She  succeeded  for  a  time,  and  the  young 
lady  gave  herself  up  to  the  enjoyments  provided  for  her. 

She  had  grown,  meanwhile,  into  a  beauty.  Her  figure 
was  tall,  finely  formed,  and  exceedingly  graceful ;  and  her 


MADAME  DE  MIXAMIOX. 


127 


face,  of  a  noble  loveliness,  with  a  complexion  of  dazzling 
purity  and  eyes  of  heavenly  blue,  was  set  off  by  a  great 
abundance  of  nut-brown  ringlets,  which  fell  down  about 
her  shoulders  and  neck.  But  the  great  charm  of  her 
countenance  was  an  expression  of  mingled  love  and 
benevolence,  such  as  usually,  though  not  always,  marks 
the  features  of  those  who  naturally  delight  in  doing  good. 
Among  the  young  ladies  of  her  time  there  was  none  more 
beautiful  than  she,  and  to  her  charms  of  face  and  form 
was  added  the  attraction  of  broad  estates  and  fair 
chateaux,  all  her  own. 

As  she  again  showed  symptoms  of  discontent  with  a 
life  of  pleasure,  even  recurring  occasionally  to  the  iron 
chain,  her  aunt  urged  her  to  signify  a  preference  for  011c 
of  the  numerous  eligible  lovers  who  had  been  flitting 
round  her  ever  since  her  entrance  into  society.  One  of 
them,  it  seems,  had  attracted  her  regard.  It  was  M.  de 
Miramion,  who,  as  she  had  observed  at  church  and  else¬ 
where,  was  particularly  attentive  to  his  mother,  which 
led  her  to  believe  he  was  a  worthy  young  man,  who 
would  sympathize  with  her  desire  to  hold  aloof  from 
the  frivolous  life  of  her  class.  He  was  rich,  and  of  noble 
rank,  well  looking,  and  in  love  with  the  beautiful  Mad¬ 
emoiselle  de  Rubelle.  They  were  married  —  he  twenty- 
seven,  sated  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world ;  she  sixteen, 
superior  to  them.  All  went  happily  for  a  few  months. 

“  I  gave  up  playing  cards,”  she  wrote,  “  and  going  to 
balls  and  theaters,  which  caused  great  surprise.  I  began 
a  regular  life  ;  I  won  over  my  husband,  and  persuaded  him 
to  live  like  a  good  Christian.  We  were  very  much  united, 
and  much  beloved  by  our  family,  with  whom  we  never 
had  any  disagreement,  except  from  their  efforts  to  make 
me  amuse  myself.” 

This  harmonious  married  life  was  rudely  terminated, 
at  the  end  of  six  months,  by  the  d'rnh  of  the  husband, 
after  an  illness  <?f  a  week.  At  seventeen  Madame  de 


123 


MADAME  DE  MIRAMION. 


Miramion  was  a  widow,  and  about  to  be  a  mother.  The 
blow  was  so  sudden  and  severe  that  nothing,  perhaps, 
would  have  availed  to  recall  her  to  an  interest  in  mun¬ 
dane  affairs  but  the  birth  of  her  daughter.  When  she 
reappeared  in  the  great  world,  she  was  lovelier  than  ever 
in  her  face  and  person,  and  her  fortune  had  been  increased 
by  her  portion  of  her  husband’s  estate.  She  was  a  very 
rich  and  beautiful  widow  of  eighteen,  with  only  the 
incumbrance  of  an  infant  in  arms.  Lovers  again  sur¬ 
rounded  her,  but  she  encouraged  none  of  them;  and, 
indeed,  she  was  firmly  resolved  to  dedicate  her  life  to 
the  education  of  her  daughter.  Among  her  suitors  was 
a  roue  of  high  rank  and  wasted  fortune  —  a  widower  with 
three  daughters,  who  felt  how  advantageous  it  would  be 
to  add  the  lady’s  estate  to  his  own.  Rejected  by  her,  he 
was  given  to  understand  by  a  friend  of  the  family  that 
she  really  liked  him,  and  was  only  prevented  from  marry¬ 
ing  him  by  the  fear  of  offending  her  relations.  This  was 
false,  but  he  believed  it,  and  he  determined  to  carry  her 
off  in  the  style  of  an  old-fashioned  romance. 

On  a  certain  day,  as  the  young  widow  and  her  mother- 
in-law  were  going  in  a  carriage  to  a  church  near  Paris, 
the  vehicle  was  suddenly  surrounded  by  a  band  of  horse¬ 
men  wearing  masks.  They  stopped  the  carriage  and 
opened  the  door.  The  young  lady  screamed  with  terror, 
which  the  horsemen  attributed  to  her  desire  to  keep  up 
appearances  before  her  mother-in-law,  and  therefore  pro¬ 
ceeded  to  execute  their  purpose.  The  old  lady  and  one 
servant  were  left  in  the  road  to  make  their  way  home  as 
best  they  could,  while  the  carriage  containing  the  prize 
was  driven  rapidly  away,  surrounded  by  the  gentlemen  on 
horseback,  led  by  the  lover.  All  day  the  party  galloped 
on  until,  at  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  they  reached  an 
ancient  castle,  with  wall,  moat,  and  draw-bridges,  as  we 
find  them  in  the  novels  of  the  period.  Here  a  party  of 
two  hundred  of  the  abductor’s  friends  were  in  waiting, 


MADAME  DE  MIKAMION. 


129 

all  armed,  and  all  possessed  with  the  idea  that  the  abduc¬ 
tion  was  undertaken  with  the  full  and  free  consent  of  the 
lady.  She  soon  undeceived  them.  She  utterly  refused  to 
enter  the  castle  or  leave  the  carriage.  At  length  one  of 
the  gentlemen,  a  knight  of  a  religious  order,  gave  her  his 
word  of  honor  that  if  she  would  alight  and  remain  in  the 
castle  for  the  night,  she  should  be  set  free  at  daybreak, 
and  conveyed  in  safety  to  her  friends.  She  then  con¬ 
sented  to  accept  the  shelter  proffered  her.  She  passed 
the  night  in  solitude,  and  in  the  morning  was  replaced  in 
her  carriage  and  set  free. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  law  at  that  time  in  France, 
and  such  the  power  of  the  nobility,  that  the  perpetrators 
of  this  outrage  escaped  punishment,  and  people  generally 
seem  to  have  thought  it  a  gallant  and  high-spirited  adven¬ 
ture,  and  one  that  ought  to  have  been  rewarded  with 
success. 

From  this  time  to  the  end  of  her  life,  Madame  de 
Miramion  thought  no  more  of  lovers.  After  recovering 
from  the  serious  illness  caused  by  that  day  and  night  of 
terror,  she  entered  upon  the  way  of  life  which  has  caused 
her  name  to  be  remembered  with  honor  and  affection  for 
two  centuries.  She  became  austerely  religious.  She 
economized  her  large  income,  so  as  to  have  the  largest 
possible  sum  to  expend  in  works  and  institutions  of 
charity  —  discarding  all  the  gay  costumes  and  decora¬ 
tions  of  her  sex,  and  wearing  always  a  plain,  peculiar 
dress,  like  that  of  a  religious  order.  She  personally 
superintended  her  affairs,  and  showed  a  particular  talent 
for  business,  making  the  most  of  all  her  sources  of 
income.  The  education  of  her  daughter  was  her  own 
work,  and  so  successfnl  was  she  wich  her,  that  when  she 
was  married  at  fifteen,  she  was  regarded  and  treated  as 
a  mature  woman,  and  proved  worthy  of  the  confidence 
reposed  in  her. 


130 


MADAME  DE  MIRAMION. 


Madame  dc  Miramion  was  the  first  lady  in  Europe  who 
ever  tried  systematically  to  reclaim  the  fallen  of  her  own 
sex.  She  hired  a  spacious  house  in  Paris,  into  which  she 
received  those  who  wished  to  reform,  and  there  she  main¬ 
tained  and  taught  them,  and  for  such  as  persisted  in 
leading  an  honest  life,  she  procured  places  or  husbands. 
Other  ladies  of  rank  joined  her  the  King  assisted,  and 
the  establishment  continues  its  benevolent  work  to  the 
present  day.  She  also  founded  a  dispensary,  which  not 
only  supplied  the  poor  with  medicines,  but  instructed  a 
number  of  women  in  the  art  of  preparing  them,  and  in 
the  making  of  salves  and  plasters.  An  excellent  institu¬ 
tion  founded  by  her  was  an  industrial  school  for  young 
girls,  where  they  were  taught  sewing,  household  arts, 
reading,  writing,  and  the  catechism,  all  the  pupils  being 
furnished  every  day  with  a  good  plain  dinner.  In  all 
these  establishments,  Madame  de  Miramion  labored  with 
her  own  hands  and  head,  setting  an  example  of  devotion 
and  skill  to  all  who  assisted  her.  Her  singular  aptitude 
for  managing  business,  and  her  knowledge  of  finance, 
stood  her  in  good  stead.  During  one  of  those  times  of 
famine  which  used  to  desolate  France,  she  hit  upon  the 
expedient  of  selling  a  piece  of  bread  and  a  certain 
quantity  of  soup  at  cost,  or  a  little  below  cost,  by  which 
many  thousands  were  carried  over  the  period  of  scarcity 
who  would  not  have  been  reached  by  charity. 

She  spent  her  life  in  labors  like  these,  devoting  herself 
and  all  she  possessed  to  the  mitigation  of  human  woe, 
reserving  literally  nothing  for  her  own  enjoyment.  It 
was  she  who  gave  that  impulse  to  works  of  charity  which 
has  rendered  Paris  the  city  of  Europe  most  abounding  in 
organizations  for  the  alleviation  of  poverty  and  pain. 
She  died  in  1694.  Recently  her  memoirs  have  been 
published  in  Paris  by  a  member  of  her  family,  and  the 
work,  I  hope,  will  find  its  way,  through  a  translation,  to 
readers  in  America. 


PEG  O’NEAL. 


IXTY  years  ago,  there  used  to  be  in  Washington  a 


o  spacious  tavern  in  the  old-fashioned  Southern  style, 
kept  by  William  O’Neal,  who  had  lived  in  the  neighbor¬ 
hood  before  the  capital  was  built  on  the  shores  of  the 
Potomac.  This  landlord  had  a  pretty  daughter  named 
Peg,  who  was  the  pet  of  the  house  from  babyhood  to 
womanhood.  She  was  somewhat  free  and  easy  in  her 
manners,  as  girls  are  apt  to  lie  who  grow  up  in  such  cir¬ 
cumstances  ;  and  it  did  not  immediately  occur  to  her  that 
a  young  lady  of  twenty  cannot  behave  with  quite  the  free¬ 
dom  of  a  girl  of  twelve,  without  exciting  ill-natured 
remark. 

Among  the  boarders  of  this  old  tavern,  whenever  he 
came  to  Washington,  was  General  Andrew  Jackson,  of 
Tennessee,  who  had  known  the  landlord  in  the  olden  time 
when  he  used  to  pass  through  that  region  on  his  way  from 
Nashville  to  his  seat  in  Congress  at  Philadelphia.  Mrs. 
Jackson,  also,  occasionally  accompanied  the  general  to 
the  seat  of  government,  wdiere  she  became  warmly 
attached  both  to  Mrs.  O’Neal  and  to  her  daughter,  Peg. 
The  general  nowhere  in  Washington  felt  himself  so  much 
at  home  as  in  this  old  tavern.  No  one  could  make  him 
and  his  plain,  fat  little  wife  so  comfortable  as  Mrs.  O'Neal, 
and  no  one  could  fdl  the  general’s  corn-cob  pipe  more 
acceptably  than  the  lively  and  beautiful  Peg. 

In  due  time,  Peg  O’Neal,  as  she  was  universally  called, 
became  the  wife  of  a  purser  in  the  navy,  named  Timber- 


!3i 


132 


PEG  O'NEAL. 


lake,  who,  while  on  duty  in  the  Mediterranean,  committed 
suicide,  in  consequence,  it  was  supposed,  of  a  drunken 
debauch  on  shore.  He  left  his  widow  with  two  children 
and  little  fortune,  but  still  young  and  beautiful. 

Early  in  1829,  Senator  Eaton  of  Tennessee,  one  of 
General  Jackson’s  most  intimate  friends  and  political 
allies  (an  old  boarder,  too,  at  the  O’Neal  tavern),  was 
disposed  to  marry  the  widow  ;  but,  before  doing  so,  com 
suited  General  Jackson. 

“  Why,  yec,  Major,”  replied  the  general,  “  if  you  love 
the  woman,  and  she  will  have  you,  marry  her  by  all 
means.” 

Major  Eaton  observed  that  the  young  widow  had  not 
escaped  reproach,  and  that  even  himself  was  supposed  to 
have  been  too  fond  of  her. 

“Well,”  said  the  general,  “your  marrying  her  will  dis¬ 
prove  these  charges,  and  restore  Peg’s  good  name.” 

They  were  married  in  January,  1829;  and  a  few  weeks 
after,  General  Jackson  was  inaugurated  President  of  the 
United  States.  In  forming  his  cabinet,  the  President 
assigned  the  Department  of  War  to  his  old  friend  and 
neighbor,  Major  Eaton.  This  appointment  suddenly 
invested  his  wife  with  social  importance.  Extravagant 
stories  circulated  in  Washington  respecting  Mrs.  Eaton, 
and  the  ladies  made  up  their  minds  with  one  accord  that 
they  would  not  call  upon  her,  nor  in  any  way  recognize 
her  existence  as  the  wife  of  a  cabinet  minister. 

Meanwhile,  General  Jackson  remained  in  ignorance  of 
this  new  outbreak  of  scandal ;  but  before  he  had  been  a 
month  at  the  White  House  a  distinguished  clergyman  of 
Philadelphia,  Dr.  Ely,  wrote  him  a  long  letter  detailing 
the  slander  at  great  length,  and  calling  upon  him  to 
repudiate  Mrs.  Eaton.  General  Jackson  had  his  faults, 
but  he  never  did  a  mean  thing  nor  a  cowardly  thing  in 
his  life.  The  manner  in  which  he  set  about  defending  the 


PEG  O’NEAL. 


r33 


daughter  of  his  old  friend,  and  his  wife’s  old  friend,  does 
him  as  much  honor  as  one  of  his  campaigns.  He  replied 
to  Dr.  Ely  in  a  letter  of  several  sheets,  in  which  he  exam¬ 
ined  the  stories  with  something  of  the  coolness  of  an  old 
lawyer,  and  very  much  of  the  warmth  of  a  friend.  One 
of  the  charges  was  that  the  deceased  Timberlake  believed 
all  this  scandal,  and  cherished  deep  resentment  against 
Eaton.  The  general  met  this  in  a  triumphant  manner : 

“  How  can  such  a  tale  be  reconciled  with  the  following 
facts  ?  While  now  writing,  I  turn  my  eyes  to  the  mantel¬ 
piece,  where  I  behold  a  present  sent  me  by  Mr.  Timber- 
lake  of  a  Turkish  pipe,  about  three  weeks  before  his  death, 
and  presented  through  Mr.  Eaton,  whom  in  his  letter  he 
calls  Ms  friend” 

In  a  similar  way  he  refuted  the  other  accusations,  and 
he  kept  up  the  defence  in  letter  after  letter,  witli  the  same 
energy  and  fire  that  he  had  displayed  in  hurling  the  Eng¬ 
lish  troops  back  from  New  Orleans.  I  have  had  in  my 
hands  hundreds  of  pages  of  manuscript  in  General  Jack¬ 
son’s  writing,  or  caused  to  be  written  by  him,  all  relating 
to  this  affair,  and  all  produced  in  the  early  weeks  of  a 
new  administration.  lie  brought  it  before  his  cabinet. 
He  summoned  the  chief  propagator  of  the  scandals;  he 
moved  heaven  and  earth.  But,  for  once  in  his  life,  the 
general  was  completely  baffled  ;  the  ladies  would  not  call 
upon  Mrs.  Eaton  ;  not  even  the  general’s  niece,  Mrs. 
Donclson,  the  mistress  of  the  White  House. 

“  Any  thing  else,  uncle,”  she  said,  “  I  will  do  for  you, 
but  I  will  not  call  upon  Mrs.  Eaton.” 

The  general  was  so  indignant  that  he  advised  her  to  go 
back  to  Tennessee  ;  and  she  went  back,  she  and  her 
husband,  private  secretary  to  the  President.  General 
Jackson’s  will  was  strong,  but  he  discovered  on  this  occa¬ 
sion  that  woman’s  won’t  was  stronger. 

In  the  midst  of  this  controversy,  when  the  feelings  of 


134 


PEG  O'NEAL. 


the  general  were  exasperated  to  the  highest  pitch,  there 
arrived  in  Washington  Martin  Van  Buren  to  assume  the 
office  of  Secretary  of  State.  Mr.  Van  Buren,  beside 
being  one  of  the  most  good-natured  of  men,  and  a  worthy 
gentleman  in  all  respects  (to  whom  justice  has  not  been 
done),  had  no  ladies  in  his  family.  He  was  a  widower 
without  daughters.  lie  was  also  the  friend  and  close  ally 
of  Major  Eaton.  Soon  after  his  arrival  in  Washington, 
he  called  upon  Mrs.  Eaton  as  a  matter  of  course,  but 
treated  her  with  particular  respect  as  a  victim  of  calumny. 
He  did  a  great  deal  more  than  this.  He  used  the  whole 
influence  of  his  position  as  Secretary  of  State  to  set  her 
right  before  the  world. 

Among  the  diplomatic  corps,  it  chanced  that  the  British 
Minister  Mr.  Vaughan,  and  the  Russian  Minister  Baron 
Krudener  were  both  bachelors,  and  Mr.  Van  Buren  easily 
enlisted  them  in  the  cause.  Balls  were  given  by  them  at 
which  they  treated  the  lady  with  the  most  marked  atten¬ 
tion,  and  contrived  various  expedients  to  get  the  other 
ladies  into  positions  where  they  would  be  compelled  to 
speak  civilly  to  her.  All  was  in  vain.  The  ladies  held 
their  ground  with  undaunted  pertinacity,  yielding  neither 
to  the  Pi'esident’s  wrath  nor  to  the  Secretary’s  devices. 

The  nickname  given  to  Mrs.  Eaton  by  the  hostile  faction 
was  Bellona,  the  goddess  of  war.  A  letter-writer  of  the 
day  sent  to  one  of  the  New  York  papers  amusing  accounts 
of  the  gallant  efforts  of  the  three  old  "bachelors  to  “  keep 
Bellona  afloat  ”  in  the  society  of  the  capital. 

“  A  ball  and  supper,”  he  says,  “  were  got  up  by  his 
excellency,  the  British  Minister,  Mr.  ATaughan,  a  particu- 
lar  friend  of  Mr.  Van  Buren.  After  various  stratagems 
to  keep  Bellona  afloat  during  the  evening,  in  which  almost 
every  cotillion  in  which  she  made  her  appearance  was 
instantly  dissolved  into  its  original  elements,  she  was  at 
length  conducted  by  the  British  Minister  to  the  head  of 


PEG  O’NEAL. 


135 


the  table,  where,  in  pursuance  of  that  instinctive  power 
of  inattention  to  whatever  it  seems  improper  to  notice 
the  ladies  seemed  not  to  know  that  she  was  at  the  table. 
This  ball  and  supper  were  followed  by  another  given  by  the 
Russian  Minister.  To  guard  against  the  repetition  of  the 
spontaneous  dissolution  of  the  cotillions  and  the  neglect 
of  the  ladies  at  supper  (where  you  must  observe,  none 
but  ladies  had  scats),  Mr.  Van  Buren  made  a  direct  and 
earnest  appeal  to  the  lady  of  the  Minister  from  Holland, 
Mrs.  Iluygens,  whom  lie  entreated  to  consent  to  be  intro¬ 
duced  to  the  accomplished  and  lovely  Mrs.  Eaton. 

“  The  ball  scene  arrived,  and  Mrs.  Huygens,  with  uncom¬ 
mon  dignity,  maintained  her  ground,  avoiding  the 
advances  of  Bellona  and  her  associates  until  supper  was 
announced,  when  Mrs.  Huygens  was  informed  by  Baron 
Krudener  that  Mr.  Eaton  would  conduct  her  to  the  table. 
She  declined  and  remonstrated,  but  in  the  meantime  Mr. 
Eaton  advanced  to  offer  his  arm.  She  at  first  objected, 
but  to  relieve  him  from  his  embarrassment  walked  with 
him  to  the  table,  where  she  found  Mrs.  Eaton  seated  at 
the  head,  beside  an  empty  chair  for  herself.  Mrs. 
Huygens  had  no  alternative  but  to  become  an  instrument 
to  the  intrigue,  or  decline  taking  supper ;  she  chose  the 
latter,  and  taking  hold  of  her  husband's  arm  withijrew 
from  the  room.  This  was  the  offence  for  which  General 
Jackson  afterwards  threatened  to  send  her  husband  home. 

“  The  next  scene  in  the  drama  was  a  grand  dinner,  given 
in  the  cast  room  of  the  palace  where  it  was  arranged  that 
Mr.  Vaughan  was  to  conduct  Mrs.  Eaton  to  the  table  and 
place  her  at  the  side  of  the  President,  who  took  care  by 
his  marked  attention  to  admonish  all  present  (about 
eighty,  including  the  principal  officers  of  the  government 
and  their  ladies)  that  Mrs.  Eaton  was  one  of  his  favorites, 
and  that  he  expected  her  to  be  treated  as  such  in  all 
places.  Dinner  being  over  (lie  company  retired  to  the 


I36 


FEG  O'NEAL. 


coffee  room  to  indulge  in  the  exhilarating  conversation 
which  wine  and  good  company  usually  excite.  But  all 
would  not  do.  Nothing  would  move  the  inflexible  ladies.” 

Mr.  Van  Buren’s  conduct  completely  won  the  affection 
of  General  Jackson,  of  which  during  the  summer  of  1830 
he  gave  a  most  extraordinary  proof.  Being  exceedingly 
sick,  and  not  expected  to  live  through  his  first  term,  he 
wrote  a  letter  strongly  recommending  Mr.  Van  Buren  as 
his  successor  to  the  presidency,  and  denouncing  his  rival, 
Calhoun,  as  signally  unfit  for  the  position.  The  letter 
was  confided  to  the  custody  of  Major  William  B.  Lewis, 
of  Nashville,  who  permitted  me  to  copy  it  in  1858  for  use 
in  my  Life  of  Jackson.  It  had  lain  in  a  green  box,  with 
other  private  documents  of  a  similar  nature,  for  twenty- 
eight  years ;  for,  as  the  general  in  part  recovered  his 
health,  it  was  never  used  for  the  purpose  intended.  Not 
the  less,  however,  did  General  Jackson,  by  a  long  series 
of  skillful  maneuvres,  secure  for  Mr.  Van  Buren  the 
succession  to  the  presidency. 

Finding  the  ladies  resolute,  and  being  himself  consti¬ 
tutionally  unable  to  give  up,  General  Jackson  broke  up 
his  cabinet,  quarreled  with  Calhoun,  drove  him  into  nulli¬ 
fication,  sent  Van  Buren  abroad  as  Minister  to  England, 
and,  in  short,  changed  the  course  of  events  in  the  United 
States  for  half  a  century;  all  because  the  Washington 
ladies  would  not  call  upon  Mrs.  Eaton.  Some  time  after 
the  close  of  the  Jackson  administration  Mrs.  Eaton  was 
again  left  a  widow;  but  this  time,  she  was  left  a  rich 
widow.  For  many  years  she  lived  in  Washington  in  very 
elegant  style,  in  a  house  all  alive  and  merry  with  children 
and  grandchildren.  In  her  old  age  she  was  so  unfor¬ 
tunate  as  to  marry  a  young  Italian  dancing-master,  who 
squandered  her  fortune,  and  brought  her  gray  hairs  in 
poverty  and  sorrow  to  the  grave.  She  died  in  Washing¬ 
ton  a  few  years  ago,  aged  about  eighty-four  years. 


rEG  O'NEAL. 


137 


Was  General  Jackson  right  in  carrying  his  defence  of 
Mrs.  Eaton  to  this  extreme  ?  We  may  say  of  General 
Jackson  that  he  often  did  a  right  thing  in  a  wrong  way. 
If  he  did  not  succeed  in  making  the  ladies  call  upon  Mrs. 
Eaton,  he  gave  the  politics  of  the  country  a  turn  which, 
upon  the  whole,  was  beneficial. 


MRS.  L.  N.  MONMOUTH,  AND  now  SHE  LIYEI'  ON 
FORTY  DOLLARS  A  YEAR. 


ERE  is  a  true  tale  of  a  lady,  still  living  among  us, 


J _ L  who  rescued  her  home,  her  life,  her  happiness,  and 

her  dignity  as  a  gentlewoman,  from  an  abyss  of  circum¬ 
stances  that  threatened  to  engulf  them  all.  She  is  that 
Mrs.  L.  II.  Monmouth,  of  Canterbury,  New  Hampshire,  of 
whom  the  reader  may  have  casually  heard,  who  in  mid¬ 
dle  age,  half  disabled,  and  an  invalid,  suddenly  lost  her 
fortune.  She  had  been  living  in  comfort  and  apparent 
security  in  the  receipt  of  a  modest,  but  sufficient  income, 
much  of  which  she  spent  in  charity.  She  aw’oke  one 
morning  and  found  herself  without  a  dollar  —  every¬ 
thing  gone  but  the  old  homestead  that  sheltered  her. 

Too  ill  to  work,  afflicted  with  a  crippled  arm  and  one 
blind  eye,  and  dazed  by  the  suddenness  of  her  misfor¬ 
tune,  she  was  at  her  wits’  end  to  know  what  to  do.  In 
this  emergency,  friends  were  not  backward  in  offering 
their  advice. 

“Take  boarders,”  said  one. 

“  Sell  your  place  and  buy  a  cottage,”  said  another. 

“Let  it,  and  hire  your  board,”  said  a  third. 

Others,  perhaps  as  well-meaning,  but  even  less  prac¬ 
tical,  counseled  her  to  be  resigned,  to  rely  on  Providence, 
to  trust  and  pray.  A  few  added  the  vague  though  kindly 
phrase : 

“  When  you  want  anything,  be  sure  and  let  us  know.” 

If  these  various  suggestions  were  of  any  assistance  to 
Mrs.  Monmouth  in  her  trouble,  it  was  only  in  showing 


138 


MRS.  L.  N.  MONMOUTH. 


139 


her  that  she  must  think  and  act  for  herself.  Take  hoard¬ 
ers  she  would  not,  on  account  of  her  health.  Her  house, 
if  she  sold  it,  would  not  bring  more  than  six  hundred 
dollars,  a  sum  too  small  for  the  purchase  of  a  cottage, 
and  which,  if  used  for  paying  board,  would  soon  have 
slipped  away  and  left  her  dependent  upon  charity. 

The  house  was  old,  dreary,  and  dilapidated.  “  The 
roofs  leaked,”  she  says,  “the  windows  were  rickety, 
the  chimney  discharged  a  mournful  brickbat  in  every 
driving  storm.”  But  it  was  a  shelter ;  it  was  dear  to 
her ;  and  she  resolved  to  keep  it.  The  land  upon  which 
it  stood  yielded  twenty  dollars  a  year  in  hay,  twelve  for 
pasture,  and  in  good  years  three  for  apples.  By  knitting 
and  making  artificial  flowers,  the  only  work  she  was  ablo 
to  do,  she  could  depend  upon  earning  fifteen  dollars  more. 
These  sums  together  equaled  an  income  of  exactly  fifty 
dollars,  ten  of  which  would  be  required  for  taxes.  Upon 
the  remaining  forty  she  determined  to  live,  and  did 
live. 

She  did  not  enter  upon  this  desperate  experiment  with¬ 
out  serious  misgivings.  Her  first  thought  was  to  assign 
twenty  dollars  out  of  the  precious  forty  for  food,  but  this 
sum  she  soon  reduced  to  seventeen.  Better  starve  the 
body  than  the  mind,  she  thought,  and  the  three  dollars 
thus  saved  were  used  to  continue  her  subscription  to  hei 
favorite  weekly  newspaper.  She  did  better  even  than 
this;  for  in  her  final  apportionment  of  expenditures  wo 
find  ten  dollars  —  one-quarter  of  her  whole  income  exclu¬ 
sive  of  taxes  —  set  apart  for  the  purchase  of  reading  mat¬ 
ter  ;  the  only  other  item  in  the  list,  besides  food,  being 
thirteen  dollars  for  fuel. 

Not  a  single  penny  did  she  devote  to  dress,  and  the 
ingenious  shifts  by  which  she  succeeded  in  clothing  her¬ 
self  respectably  and  sufficiently  upon  nothing  a  year,  for 
three  years,  arc  worthy  of  study,  and  cannot  fail  to  excite 


140  MRS.  L.  N.  MONMOUTH. 

admiration.  Her  wardrobe,  at  the  time  of  her  loss  of 
fortune,  contained  but  one  suit  in  really  good  condition, 
and  but  one  outer  garment  of  any  kind,  a  waterproof 
cloak  much  worn  and  defaced.  But  she  possessed  a 
palm-figured  dressing-gown  lined  with  purple  flannel,  the 
outside  of  which  was  soiled  and  torn,  while'  the  lining 
was  still  quite  good.  This  she  ripped  to  pieces,  and, 
after  washing  and  ironing  the  flannel,  made  a  new  gown 
from  it  which  she  trimmed  with  the  palm-leaf  figures  cut 
from  the  sound  parts  of  the  other  material,  and  placed  in 
three  bands  round  the  skirt  and  sleeves.  She  then 
raveled  out  au  old  red  undersleeve  and  edged  each 
band  with  a  narrow  fluting  made  from  tl>e  worsted  thus 
obtained. 

“  I  took  genuine  comfort,”  she  tells  us,  “  in  planning 
and  piecing  it  out,  day  after  day,  with  half-mittens  on  my 
cold  hands,  sitting  close  to  a  cold  fire.  I  was  more  than 
a  week  about  it,  for  owing  to  shortness  of  firewood  my 
days  were  .very  short,  and  my  lame  hand  was  decrepit 
and  painful.  I  recollected  that  when  I  had  made  this 
wrapper  out  of  an  abundance  of  nice  new  materials  I  had 
been  quite  impatient  at  having  to  sew  on  it  for  two  days, 
and  called  in  help  to  finish  it  off.  People  wdio  saw  it 
after  it  was  remodeled  said  it  was  handsomer  than  when 
it  was  new,  and  it  is  certain  I  thought  a  good  deal  more 
of  it.” 

Even  a  Yankee  woman  might  well  be  proud  of  such  a 
triumph ;  but  it  was  by  no  means  the  greatest  which  this 
undaunted  lady  achieved.  She  had  now  two  dresses,  but 
an  outside  garment  was  necessary,  since  the  waterproof 
was  quite  unpresentable.  In  an  outer  room  of  the  house 
hung  an  old,  rusty  overcoat  of  her  father.  It  had  been 
there  undisturbed  for  fifteen  years,  in  company  with  a 
pair  of  big  boots,  partly  through  an  affectionate  liking  of 
hers  to  sec  it  around,  partly  as  a  wdiolesome  suggestion 


MRS.  L.  N.  MONMOUTH. 


141 

to  tramps  of  a  possible  masculine  protector.  It  was 
destined  now  to  resume  a  more  active  career  of  useful¬ 
ness.  With  great  difficulty  Mrs.  Monmouth  lifted  it  from 
its  peg  and  dragged  it  to  her  room  to  examine  at  her 
ease. 

It  proved  a  mine  of  wealth  to  her.  The  lining  alone, 
of  the  finest  and  glossiest  black  lasting,  quilted  in  dia¬ 
monds,  was  a  great  treasure;  then,  when  this  had  been  ^ 
ripped  away,  the  reverse  side  of  the  coat  itself  was 
revealed  to  be  dark  gray,  clean,  whole,  and  as  good  as 
new. 

With  this  gray  cloth  cut  in  strips,  the  old  waterproof 
newly  washed,  pressed,  and  mended,  was  so  trimmed  and 
pieced  as  to  make  a  very  respectable  garment  for  winter 
service.  Better  still,  the  same  stuff  —  a  kind  of  fulled 
cloth — was  so  thick,  warm,  and  pliable  that  Mrs.  Mon¬ 
mouth,  after  having  ripped  up  an  old  shoe,  for  a  pattern, 
was  enabled  to  make  herself  an  excellent  pair  of  shoes 
out  of  it,  comfortable,  neatly  fitting,  and  not  unsightly. 

“  These  home  made  shoes,”  she  says  with  pardonable 
pride,  “  shut  off  the  shoe  bill  at  the  store,  and  gave  me 
Harper's  Magazine." 

But  let  us  not  forget  the  quilted  lining.  From  this, 
long,  shining,  and  almost  exactly  of  the  fashionable 
shape,  a  cloak  was  made  which,  when  lined  and  trimmed 
with  a  few  odds  and  ends  of  cashmere,  proved  so  hand¬ 
some  and  at  a  little  distance  so  like  satin,  that  its  skillful 
and  modest  owner  dared  not  wear  it  much  abroad,  for 
fear  of  being  accused  of  wild  extravagance.  It  was 
reserved  to  put  on  in  the  house  on  very  cold  days,  and  on 
Thanksgivings,  “  to  give  thanks  in.” 

From  some  plaid  black  and  white  flannel  which  had 
lined  the  waterproof  before  its  renovation,  another  cloak 
was  made,  less  elegant,  but  still,  when  decorated  with 
pressed  gros-gram  ribbon,  and  a  fluting  and  ball-fringe 


142 


MRS.  L.  N.  MONMOUTH. 


made  from  a  pair  of  raveled  stockings,  it  -was  an  article 
of  apparel  by  no  means  to  be  despised.  This  served  for 
use  in  spring  and  fall. 

The  problem  of  shoes  had  been  mainly  solved  by  the 
discovery  of  the  old  overcoat,  although,  to  spare  any 
unnecessary  use  of  objects  so  difficult  to  manufacture,  the 
soles  of  old  rubbers,  lined  with  flannel  and  laced  sandal- 
wise  upon  the  feet,  often  answered  for  household  wear. 
The  problem  of  stockings  remained.  It  was  finally  solved 
by  means  of  a  knitted  shawl  and  some  ancient  homespun 
underclothes,  all  of  which  had  been  long  since  cast  aside. 
They  were  a  mass  of  ends  and  ravclings,  but  the  yarn, 
though  torn  and  in  a  few  places  moth-eaten,  was  other¬ 
wise  quite  sound  and  very  strong.  This  was  carefully 
washed,  wound  into  skeins,  colored,  rinsed,  and  rewound 
into  balls  for  knitting — a  labor  of  weeks.  When  it  was 
completed  Mrs.  Monmouth  found  herself  supplied  with 
sufficient  material  to  afford  stockings  for  a  lifetime. 

Her  summer  clothing  gave  less  trouble  than  the  heavier 
garments  required  for  winter.  She  was  fortunate  enough 
to  find  an  old  chocolate  and  white  print  gown  of  her 
mother’s,  which  merely  demanded  altering  over.  A 
second  dress — a  very  pretty  one — was  made  from  a  bed- 
ticking,  and  trimmed  with  blue  drilling  taken  from  a  pair 
of  overalls  left  on  the  place  by  some  careless  workman, 
years  before.  A  pair  of  checkered  table-cloths  were  held 
in  reserve  to  be  used  should  occasion  require.  Linen 
articles  were  supplied  from  fifteen  mottoes,  worked  upon 
muslin  and  cotton  flannel,  that  the  house  contained. 
These  were  soaked  and  boiled  clean  before  being  used. 
Hats  and  bonnets  were  deemed  superfluous.  When,  how¬ 
ever,  it  was  necessary  to  pass  the  limits  of  the  little  farm 
and  appear  in  public,  a  battered  straw  ruin  from  the  attic 
fulfilled  the  demands  of  propriety,  its  forlorn  condition 
being  concealed  beneath  the  folds  of  a  barege  veil. 


MRS.  L.  N.  MONMOUTH. 


143 


In  the  matter  of  food  Mrs.  Monmouth  relied  much  upon 
corn  meal.  Four  and  a  half  cents  would  support  her 
very  well  for  a  day  and  a  half ;  one  cent  for  a  quarter  of 
a  pound  of  meal,  one  and  a  half  for  a  quarter  of  a  pound 
of  dried  beans,  and  two  for  a  bit  of  salt  pork.  This  was 
her  customary  bill  of  fare  for  three  days  out  of  the  seven 
Rice  she  made  great  use  of,  and  a  pound  of  oatmeal 
cooked  on  Monday  served  as  a  dessert  throughout  the 
week,  a  cup  of  molasses  taking  the  place  of  sauce. 
Occasionally,  when  they  were  at  their  cheapest,  she 
bought  several  eggs  ;  at  rare  intervals  she  even  indulged 
herself  with  a  beet,  a  turnip,  or  a  few  cents  worth  of 
butcher’s  scraps.  Once  a  month  she  luxuriated  in  baking 
gingerbread  or  frying  doughnuts,  one  at  a  time,  over  her 
little  oil  stove. 

“  I  always  enjoyed  the  frying  of  doughnuts,”  she  says, 
“  and  looked  forward  to  it  with  a  zest  of  anticipation  ; 
they  generally  came  u.p  plump  and  round,  and  quite  filled 
the  little  cup  of  boiling  lard.  I  picked  them  out  with  a 
fork  and  invariably  ate  the  first  while  the  second  was 
cooking.  After  that  I  let  them  congregate  upon  a  plate, 
and  watched  their  numbers  increase  to  five,  six,  seven — - 
never  more  than  that.” 

Now  and  then  she  was  haunted  by  visions  of  the  savory 
cakes  and  pies  baking  in  her  neighbors’  ovens  ;  but  when¬ 
ever  the  contrast  became  too  strong  between  these  fancied 
delicacies  and  the  lonely  pot  of  oatmeal  in  her  own 
cupboard,  she  hastened  to  forget  her  deprivations  in  a 
book. 

Her  usual  provision  of  winter  fuel  was  three  cords  of 
wood,  which  she  sawed  herself,  despite  her  lame  arm, 
“  worrying  off,”  as  she  expresses  it,  “  a  few  sticks  each 
day  ”  During  the  milder  seasons  of  the  year  she  burned 
only  such  dried  moss,  branches,  and  pine  cones  as  she 
could  gather  in  the  neighborhood.  For  almost  all  cooking 


144 


MRS.  L.  N.  MONMOUTH. 


she  used  an  oil  stove.  Her  lame  arm,  ■which  was  easily 
affected  by  the  weather,  became  almost  useless  during 
periods  of  intense  cold.  At  these  times,  feeling  that 
when  nothing  could  be  earned  something  might  at  least 
be  saved,  she  would  spare  her  fuel  by  creeping  into  bed 
with  a  book  and  a  hot  freestone,  and  spend  the  day 
beneath  the  clothes. 

She  had  no  money  to  spare  for  incidental  expenses. 
When  the  roof  of  her  shed  let  in  too  much  rain  upon  the 
wood-pile,  the  wood-pile  was  moved  to  a  drier  spot.  When 
a  front  window  was  ruined  by  some  reckless  sportsman 
putting  thirty  shot  holes  through  it,  the  blinds  were  closed 
and  it  was  left  unmended.  When  the  plaster  dropped 
down  into  the  rooms  its  place  was  supplied  by  patches  of 
cloth  pasted  over  the  bare  brown  laths.  Yet,  while  her 
poverty  reduced  her  to  such  makeshifts  as  these,  while 
she  denied  herself  even  the  lotion  which  would  alleviate 
the  condition  of  her  crippled  arm,  Mrs.  Monmouth  always 
managed  to  keep  a  dollar  or  two  on  hand  for  charitable 
purposes,  and  never  failed  to  manufacture  some  simple 
Christmas  presents  for  a  few  children  and  faithful  friends 
who  were  accustomed  to  bring  her  occasionally  during  the 
year  what  she  gratefully  terms  “  baskets  of  benefaction.” 

She  succeeded,  moreover,  in  finding  time  and  strength 
to  render  pleasing  and  attractive  the  old  home  which  she 
could  not  afford  to  repair,  and  which  became,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years,  a  veritable  museum  of  ingenious 
and  beautiful  handiwork.  At  last  the  people  around  her 
became  interested ;  the  place  began  to  be  talked  of,  and 
its  fame  spread  into  the  neighboring  towns.  Visitors 
arrived,  few  at  first,  and  later  in  such  numbers  that  Mrs. 
Monmouth  was  obliged  to  charge  an  admittance  fee,  and 
afterwards  to  issue  a  circular  containing  prices  and 
regulations. 

“  Children,  seven  cents ;  Ladies,  ten ;  Gentlemen,  fif- 


MRS.  L.  N.  MONMOUTH. 


145 


teen ;  ”  says  this  interesting  little  document,  adding  that 
“  No  gentlemen  unaccompanied  by  ladies  will  be  admitted, 
and  strangers  must  bring  an  introduction.” 

It  also  states,  very  prudently,  that  “  Ladies  are 
requested  not  to  come  with  horses  they  cannot  manage. 
Such  as  wish  to  remain  most  of  the  day  can  do  so  by 
bringing  lunch  and  paying  twenty-five  cents.” 

Besides  her  other  labors,  Mrs.  Monmouth  has  written 
a  small  pamphlet  relating  her  experiences,  which  she 
entitles,  “  Living  on  Half  a  Dime  a  Day.” 

Let  no  one  undervalue  these  trifling  details,  for  they 
convey  to  this  extravagant  age  a  lesson  of  which  it 
stands  in  need.  Some  of  the  brightest  spirits  of  our  time 
have  passed  or  are  passing  their  lives  in  miserable  bond¬ 
age,  solely  through  disregard  of  Mrs.  Monmouth’s  princi¬ 
ple  of  preserving  her  independence  by  living  within  her 
means.  An  English  poet  of  great  celebrity  has  a  costly 
mansion  unfinished,  which  has  for  years  made  him  a 
bond-slave  to  publishers  and  architects. 

The  French  novelist,  Balzac,  as  we  see  by  his  Letters, 
spent  his  life  in  a  mere  struggle  to  pay  off  enormous 
debts  incurred  in  building,  improving,  and  furnishing. 
He  was  a  man  of  almost  unequaled  strength  of  constitu¬ 
tion,  one  who  could  work  sixteen  hours  a  day,  for  months 
at  a  time,  without  obvious  exhaustion ;  but  it  killed  him 
at  last.  The  disease  of  which  he  died  was  called  con¬ 
sumption,  but  its  correct  name  was  House  and  Grounds  ; 
and  he  seemed  quite  helpless  in  the  clutch  of  this  dread 
malady.  When  he  began  to  write  he  used  to  receive  for 
a  small  volume  one  hundred  and  twenty  dollars,  and  he 
endeavored  to  write  one  of  these  every  month.  In  the 
course  of  a  year  or  two  his  price  rose  to  four  hundred 
dollars  for  a  volume,  which  would  have  yielded  him  a 
tolerable  income  without  excessive  labor.  But  now, 
presuming  upon  his  strength  and  ability,  he  began  to  get 


146 


MRS.  L.  N.  MONMOUTH. 


into  debt,  and,  in  six  years,  he  owed  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars.  From  that  time  to  the  end  of  his  life,  he  was 
possessed  of  two  raging  manias — a  mania  to  get  into 
debt,  and  a  mania  to  work  out  of  debt.  But  it  is  so  easy 
to  spend !  Ho  sometimes  received  five  thousand  dollars 
a  month  for  literary  labor,  and  sold  one  story  to  a  news¬ 
paper  for  four  thousand  dollars.  Rising  from  his  bed  at 
midnight,  he  kept  at  work  all  the  rest  of  the  night,  and 
most  of  the  next  day,  till  five  in  the  afternoon ;  but  his 
debts  grew  apace  and  speedily  reached  a  total  of  fifty 
thousand  dollars. 

Then,  of  course,  he  must  needs  buy  a  house  and  set 
about  improving  its  garden.  He  appears  not  to  have 
known  what  was  the  matter.  He  wondered  that  he 
should  be  so  pestered  with  debts.  “  Why  am  I  in  debt?” 
he  asks.  He  died  insolvent,  after  making  millions  by  his 
pen,  and  at  the  very  moment  almost  of  his  death  he  was 
buying  an  antique  costume  for  thirty  thousand  francs, 
and  concluding  bargains  for  pictures  and  ancient  needle¬ 
work. 

There  is  an  interesting  passage  in  the  memoirs  of 
George  Ticknor,  where  he  speaks  of  his  two  visits  to 
Abbotsford,  the  big  house  that  brought  low  the  magnifi¬ 
cent  head  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  When  Mr.  Ticknor 
first  visited  the  author  of  “  Marmion,”  his  abode  was  a 
modest,  comfortable  establishment,  quite  sufficient  for  a 
reasonable  family  of  liberal  income.  When  he  paid  his 
second  visit,  Sir  Walter  having  in  the  interval  made  and 
lost  a  great  fortune,  Abbotsford  had  grown  into  a  costly, 
extensive,  nondescript,  preposterous  mansion.  The 
moment  his  eyes  fell  upon  it  he  understood  Sir  Walter's 
ruin.  That  toy  house  was  his  ruin.  The  American 
visitor  discovered  among  its  grandeurs  the  apartment  he 
had  occupied  twenty  years  before,  reduced  in  rank  aud 
office,  but  still  recognizable,  and  he  could  not  but  lament 


MRS.  L.  N.  MONMOUTH. 


147 


the  fatal  mania  which  had  lured  so  great  a  man  to  spoil  a 
modest  country  house  by  incrusting  it  over  with  an  eccen¬ 
tric,  tawdry  palace. 

A  leaf  from  Mrs.  Monmouth’s  book  might  have  saved 
these  men  from  misery  and  despair.  She  made  the  most 
of  small  means,  and  they  made  the  least  of  large.  I11  the 
midst  of  poverty  she  preserved  her  independence  and  her 
dignity;  with  superabundant  means,  they  threw  both 
away. 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC,  COMMONLY  CALLED 
JOAN  OF  ARC. 


OME  refuses  to  canonize  the  Maid  of  Orleans.  At  the 


_L\  beginning  of  the  year  1876,  Monseigneur  Dupan- 
loup,  bishop  of  the  diocese  in  which  she  began  her  career 
in  arms,  went  to  Rome,  and  asked,  on  behalf  of  his 
Catholic  countrymen,  that  the  maiden  who,  four  hundred 
and  fifty-three  years  ago,  assisted  to  restore  the  inde¬ 
pendence  of  France,  might  be  added  to  the  roll  of  the 
saints.  The  power  that  sent  the  golden  rose  unasked  to 
Isabella  of  Spain  refused  this  costless  favor  to  the  urgent 
request  of  Frenchmen. 

It  had  no  other  choice.  The  Historical  Society  of 
France  has  given  to  the  reading  world  the  means  of  know¬ 
ing  what  power  it  was  that  consigned  her  to  the  fire.  It 
was  no  other  than  the  Church  which  so  recently  was 
asked  to  canonize  her.  After  a  five  months’  trial,  in 
which  sixty  ecclesiastics,  and  none  but  ecclesiastics,  par¬ 
ticipated,  she  was  condemned  as  an  “  excommunicated 
heretic,  a  liar,  a  seducer,  pernicious,  presumptuous,  credu¬ 
lous,  rash,  superstitious,  a  pretender  to  divination,  blas¬ 
phemous  toward  God,  toward  the  saints  male  and  the 
saints  female,  contemptuous  of  God  even  in  His  sacra¬ 
ments,  distorter  of  the  Divine  law,  of  holy  doctrine,  of 
ecclesiastical  sanctions,  seditious,  cruel,  apostate,  schis¬ 
matic.”  It  were  much,  even  after  the  lapse  of  four  hun¬ 
dred  and  fifty  years,  to  forgive  such  sins  as  these. 

The  proceedings  of  this  long  trial  were  recorded  from 


148 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


151 

day  to  day  with  a  minuteness  which  only  a  short-hand 
report  could  have  surpassed,  and  when  the  last  scene  was 
over,  the  record  was  translated  into  official  Latin  by 
members  of  the  University  of  Paris.  Five  copies  of  this 
translation  were  made,  in  the  most  beautiful  writing  of 
the  period — one  for  Henry  VI,  King  of  England,  one 
•for  the  Pope,  one  for  the  English  cardinal,  uncle  to  Henry 
VI,  and  one  for  each  of  the  two  presiding  ecclesiastics. 
Three  of  these  manuscript  copies  exist  to-day  in  Paris, 
as  well  as  a  considerable  portion  of  the  original  draft  — 
le  plumitif,  as  the  French  lawyers  term  it — written  in 
the  French  of  1430.  The  very  copy  designed  for  the  boy 
King  of  England,  the  ill-starred  child  of  Henry  V  and 
Catherine  of  France,  has  remained  at  Paris,  where  its 
presence  attests  the  reality  of  the  Maid’s  exploits,  and 
recalls  her  prophetic  words,  uttered  often  in  the  hearing 
of  the  English  nobles :  “  You  will  not  hold  the  kingdom 
of  France.  In  seven  years  you  will  be  gone.”  This 
report,  edited  with  care  and  learning  by  M.  Jules  Qui- 
cherat,  has  been  printed  verbatim  in  five  volumes  octavo, 
and  these  have  been  since  reduced  to  two  volumes  by  the 
omission  of  repetitions,  under  the  zealous  editorship  of 
Mr.  E.  Reilly,  a  distinguished  lawyer  of  Rouen,  where  the 
trial  took  place.  The  record  is  therefore  ineffaceable. 
The  Church  could  not  canonize  in  187G  a  personage  whom 
the  Church  is  known  to  have  cast  beyond  her  pale  in  1430 
to  be  mercifully  burned  alive.  She  was  abandoned  to 
“the  secular  arm,”  which  was  besought  to  act  toward 
her  with  sweetness  —  aveo  douceur.  In  thirty  minutes 
the  secular  arm  bound  her  to  a  stake  in  the  market¬ 
place  of  Rouen,  and  sweetly  wreathed  about  her  virgin 
form  a  shroud  of  flame. 

France  no  longer  possesses  Domremy,  the  remote  and 
obscure  hamlet  of  Lorraine  where  the  Maid  first  saw  the 
light.  The  house  in  which  she  was  born,  the  little  church 


152 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


of  St.  Remi  in  which  she  knelt.,  and  the  church-yard 
wall  against  which  her  abode  was  built,  are  all  standing. 
The  village  is  commonly  called  Domrenr>-la-Pucelle,  in 
remembrance  of  her,  and  every  object  in  the  neighborhood 
speaks  of  her:  the  river  Meuse  gliding  past,  the  hill  of 
the  fairies  upon  which  her  companions  danced,  and  where 
they  laughed  at  her  for  liking  better  to  go  to  church,  the 
fountain  where  the  sick  were  healed  by  miracle,  and  the 
meadows  in  which  she  sat  spinning  while  she  watched  the 
village  herd  on  the  days  when  it  was  her  father’s  turn  to 
have  it  in  charge.  These  remain  little  changed ;  but 
they  are  now  part  of  the  German  Empire  —  part  of  the 
price  France  has  had  in  our  time  to  pay  for  Louis  XIV 
and  the  Bonapartes.  To  such  a  people  as  the  French  it  is 
not  a  thing  of  trifling  import  that  France  does  not  own 
the  birthplace  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans. 

Nor  was  Lorraine  a  French  possession  when  Jeanne 
Dare  kept  the  village  herd  on  the  banks  of  the  Meuse 
in  1425.  For  a  long  period  it  had  been  a  border-land 
between  France  and  the  empire,  during  which  the  inhabit¬ 
ants  of  chat  sequestered  nook  had  been  as  passionately 
French  in  their  feelings  as  the  people  of  Eastern  Tennes¬ 
see  were  warm  for  the  Union  in  18G3.  In  a  border-land 
there  is  no  neutrality.  And  during  the  childhood  of  this 
maiden,  France  had  fallen  under  the  dominion  of  the 
English.  She  was  three  or  four  }rears  of  age  when  ZTenry 
Y  won  the  battle  of  Agincourt,  and  by  the  time  she  was 
ten,  France  as  an  independent  power  had  ceased  to  be. 
It  was  not  merely  that  Harry  Y  and  his  bowmen  had 
overthrown  in  battle  the  French  armies,  but,  apart  from 
this  conquest  of  the  country,  there  were  grounds  for  the 
claim  of  his  son  to  the  French  throne  which  even  a  patri¬ 
otic  and  conscientious  Frenchman  might  have  admitted. 
The  French  King  himself,  Charles  YII,  indolently  doubted 
the  right  of  his  line  to  the  throne,  and  doubted  also  his 
own  legitimacy. 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


153 


What  could  a  Frenchman  think  of  the  rival  claimants 
of  1428?  Paris  was  in  the  power  of  the  English,  and 
apparently  content  to  be ;  two-thirds  of  France  were 
strongly  held  by  English  troops,  and  Uie  remainder  was 
not  safe  from  incursion  for  a  day;  the  uncles  of  the 
English  King,  who  ruled  France  in  his  name,  were  men 
of  energy  and  force,  capable  of  holding  what  their  valiant 
brother  had  won ;  and  as  to  the  King,  Henry  VI,  boy  as 
he  was,  he  was  a  French  Prince  as  well  as  English,  the 
son  of  English  Harry  and  the  Princess  Catherine,  whose 
pretty  courting  scenes  so  agreeably  close  Shakspeare’s 
play.  “Shall  not  thou  and  1,”  says  blunt  King  Hal  to 
the  Princess,  who  happily  understood  him  not,  “  com¬ 
pound  a  boy,  half  French,  half  English,  that  shall  go  to 
Constantinople,  and  take  the  Turk  by  the  beard  ?”  The 
boy  had  been  compounded;  he  was  now  called  Henry 
VI,  of  France  and  England  King;  and  many  thousand 
Frenchmen  owned  him  sovereign  in  their  hearts. 

The  person  whom  we  commonly  style  Joan  of  Arc, 
and  the  French  Jeanne  d’Arc,  would  have  written  her 
name,  if  she  had  ever  known  how  to  write,  Jehannette 
Rommee.  “  My  mother,”  she  said,  upon  her  trial,  “  was 
named  Rommde,  and  in  my  country  girls  bear  the  surname 
of  their  mothers.”  Her  father  was  a  farm  laborer  named 
Jacques  Dare,  originally  D’Arc  —  James  of  the  Bow,  or, 
as  we  might  say,  if  he  had  been  an  English  peasant, 
James  Bowman.  A  learned  descendant  of  the  family  — 
for  she  had  several  brothers  and  sisters  —  who  has  written 
a  book  on  the  Maid,  writes  her  name  and  his  own  Dare ; 
and  although  there  is  an  inclination  in  France  to  give  her 
still  the  aristocratic  apostrophe,  it  is  probable  that  history 
will  now  accept  plain  Jeanne  Dare  as  the  name  nearest 
the  truth.  Whether  her  father  was  a  free  laborer  or  a 
6erf  was  not  known  even  to  the  persons  who  drew  up  her 
patent  of  noLility  in  1428.  and  is  still  uncertain.  We 


154 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEaNNL  DARC. 


know,  however,  that  lie  was  an  agricultural  laborer,  who 
“went  to  the  plow,”  which  plow  this  daughter  may  have 
assisted  to  draw.  As  I  propose,  however,  to  give  those 
portions  of  her  testimony  in  which  she  relates  her  own 
story,  I  will  merely  recall  a  few  of  the  circumstances  of 
her  lot  needful  to  the  elucidation  of  her  words.  These 
were  mostly  gathered  from  the  lips  of  her  companions, 
years  after  her  death,  when  the  mother  of  the  Maid  of 
Orleans,  from  whom  she  probably  derived  her  cast  of 
character,  cried  to  France,  and  cried  not  in  vain,  to  do 
justice  to  her  daughter’s  memory. 

The  Dare  cottage  was  so  near  the  village  church  that  a 
religious  girl  residing  in  it  would  always  feel  herself  in 
the  shadow  of  the  altar.  She  could  look  from  her  home 
into  the  church’s  open  door.  She  was  familiar  with  the 
sexton  from  her  childhood,  and  used  to  remind  him  of 
his  duty  when  lie  forgot  to  ring  the  bell  for  prayers,  even 
bribing  him  to  be  punctual  by  gifts  of  wool  and  yarn.  Of 
knowledge  derived  from  books  she  possessed  none,  unless 
we  except  her  Paternoster,  her  creed,  and  a  few  short 
prayers  and  invocations,  she  not  differing  in  this  par¬ 
ticular  from  nine-tenths  of  the  people  of  the  kingdom. 
Probably  not  one  of  her  race  had  ever  been  able  to  read. 
She  was,  nevertheless,  a  person  cf  native  superiority  of 
mind  and  character,  capable  of  public  spirit,  yearning  for 
the  deliverance  of  her  country,  fervid,  energetic,  of  dex¬ 
terous  hand,  well  skilled  in  all  the  arts  and  industries 
appertaining  to  her  lot,  and  proud  to  excel  in  them.  It 
is  not  true  that  she  was  an  inn  servant,  who  rode  the 
horses  to  water,  and  saddled  them  for  travelers.  Sho 
lived  honorably  in  her  father’s  house,  earning  her  share 
of  the  family’s  subsistence  by  honest  toil,  spinning,  weav¬ 
ing,  bread-making,  gardening,  and  field-work,  “taking 
her  spinning-wheel  with  her  to  the  fields  when  it  was  her 
father’s  turn  to  tend  the  village  herd”  —  a  faithful  helper 


THE  TIIIAL  OF  JEANNE  DAUC. 


155 


to  her  parents.  She  was  a  well-grown  girl,  robust,  strong, 
and  vigorous.  Of  the  numerous  portraits  known  to  have 
been  taken  of  her  during  the  two  years  of  her  glory,  I 
know  not  if  any  one  has  been  preserved.  Probably  not ; 
else  why  do  not  Martin,  Guizot,  and  the  other  French 
historians  give  some  authority  for  the  radiant  beauty  of  the 
pictures  they  present  to  us  of  the  Maid  ?  Beautiful  she 
probably  was.  Pitiful  and  devout  we  know  she  was  from 
the  testimony  of  all  her  village,  as  well  as  from  that  of 
her  pastors,  who  heard  her  in  confession,  and  witnessed 
her  life  from  day  to  day  and  from  hour  to  hour.  We 
know,  also,  that  her  heart  was  wrung  with  sorrow  for  her 
desolated  country,  and  her  careless,  self-indulgent  King, 
whom  she  ignorantly  thought  a  peerless  hero  and  a 
Christian  knight  without  reproach. 

Such  traits  as  these,  subdued  by  Catholic  habits,  impart 
to  youth  and  beauty,  untutored  though  it  be,  an  assured 
serenity  of  demeanor  which  impresses  and  charms.  By 
Catholic  habits  I  mean  such  as  the  habit  of  remaining 
still  and  silent  in  one  attitude  for  a  long  time,  the  habit 
of  walking  at  a  measured  pace  with  the  hands  in  a  pre¬ 
scribed  position,  the  habit  of  pausing  several  times  a  day 
and  collecting  the  soul  in  meditation  on  themes  remote 
from  the  day’s  toil  and  trouble.  The  effect  of  these 
habits  upon  the  nervous  system,  and  consequently  upon 
the  demeanor,  is  such  as  to  give  convent  schools  an 
obvious  advantage,  which  keeps  them  full  of  pupils  all 
over  the  world.  Granting  that  the  effect  is  chiefly  phys¬ 
ical,  and  that  it  is  often  overvalued,  we  must  still  admit 
that  it  often  confers  personal  power  and  personal  charm. 

The  story  of  this  village  maiden  is  incomprehensi¬ 
ble,  unless  we  allow  her  the  might  and  majesty  of 
such  a  presence  as  we  still  see  in  pure-minded  and 
nobly  purposed  women.  Many  of  those  who  executed 
her  will  at  critical  moments  could  only  explain  their 


156 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


obedience  by  dwelling  upon  the  power  of  her  demeanor, 
which  was  at  once  impassioned  and  serene.  Rude  men- 
at-arms  could  not  swear  in  her  presence,  and  the 
nobles  of  a  dissolute  court  yielded  to  the  force  of  her 
resolve.  They  told  her  that  her  road  to  the  king  was 
infested  with  enemies.  “  I  do  not  fear  them,”  replied 
this  peasant  girl,  not  yet  eighteen.  “  If  there  are  enemies 
upon  my  road,  God  is  there  also,  and  He  will  know  how 
to  prepare  my  way  to  the  Lord  Dauphin.  I  was  created 
and  put  into  the  world  for  that!”  The  Comte  de  Dunois 
in  his  old  age,  twenty-six  years  after  the  campaigns  in 
which  he  had  fought  by  her  side,  bore  testimony  to  the 
commanding  power  of  her  words.  She  said  one  day  to 
the  king,  in  the  hearing  of  Dunois:  “When  I  am 
annoyed  because  my  message  from  God  is  not  more 
regarded,  I  go  apart  and  pray  to  God ;  I  lay  my  com¬ 
plaint  before  Him ;  and  when  my  prayer  is  finished  I 
hear  a  Voice  which  cries  to  me,  ‘  Child  of  God,  go,  go;  I 
will  be  your  helper ;  go!’  And  when  I  hear  that  Voice 
I  am  glad  exceedingly,  and  I  wish  to  hear  it  always.” 
After  repeating  these  sentences  of  the  Maid,  old  Dunois 
would  add,  “  And  what  was  more  wondrous  still,  while 
she  uttered  these  words  her  eyes  were  raised  to  heaven 
in  a  marvelous  transport.”  This  Maid,  I  repeat,  is  inex¬ 
plicable,  unless  we  think  of  her  as  one  of  those  gifted 
persons  who  have  natural  power  to  sway  and  to  impress. 

She  spoke  to  the  king  of  a  Voice  that  cheered  and 
guided  her.  Usually  she  used  the  plural,  mes  voix.  These 
Voices  play  the  decisive  part  both  in  her  life  and  death, 
and  they  furnish  also  the  chief  difficulty  of  her  history. 
Most  of  us  moderns  have  ceased  to  be  able  to  believe  in 
audible  or  visible  supernatural  guidance  such  as  she 
claimed  to  enjoy,  and  we  at  once  suspect  imposture  in 
the  person  who  pretends  to  it.  She  shall  tell  her  own 
story,  and  the  reader,  must  judge  it  according  to  the  light 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC.  157 

which  he  possesses.  Those  who  are  inclined  to  set  down 
all  such  pretensions  as  conscious  frauds  must  not  forget 
that  Socrates  spoke  familiarly  of  his  daemon,  whose  voice 
he  thought  he  heard,  and  whose  behests  he  professed  to 
obey  from  early  life  to  his  last  hours.  They  should  also 
recall  the  case  of  Columbus,  who  distinctly  heard  a  voice 
in  the  night  bidding  him  to  be  of  good  cheer,  and  hold¬ 
ing  out  hopes  of  success  which  were  Met  fulfilled.  Jeanne 
Dare  was  quick  enough  to  distrust  and  detect  other 
claimants  to  supernatural  visitations.  The  woman  who 
pretended  to  receive  nightly  visitations  from  a  Lady  in 
White  was  quickly  put  to  the  test.  Jeanne  Dare  resorted 
to  the  simple  expedient  of  passing  two  nights  with  her, 
and  when  the  vision  did  not  appear,  told  her  to  go  home 
and  take  care  of  her  husband  and  children.  This  Maid 
also  gave  two  proofs  of  genuineness  not  to  be  looked  for 
in  impostors.  In  her  village  home  she  was  noted  for  her 
skill  as  well  as  for  her  fidelity  in  the  labors  belonging  to 
her  position  ;  and  when  she  had  entered  upon  her  public 
life,  she  was  ever  found  in  the  thick  of  the  battle,  banner 
in  hand,  not  indeed  using  her  sword,  but  never  shrinking 
from  the  post  where  swords  were  bloodiest.  The  false 
knaves  of  this  world  neither  excel  in  homely  duties  nor 
lead  the  van  in  perilous  ones. 

France  had  never — has  never — been  so  near  extirpa¬ 
tion.  “  The  people,”  as  the  historian  Martin  expresses  it, 
“  were  no  longer  bathed  in  their  sweat,  but  ground  in 
their  blood,  debased  below  the  beasts  of  the  forest,  among 
which  they  wander,  panic-stricken,  mutilated,  in  quest  of 
an  asylum  in  the  wilderness.”  This  fervent  and  sympa¬ 
thetic  girl  came  at  length  to  see  the  desolation  of  her 
country;  her  own  village  was  laid  waste  and  plundered 
by  a  marauding  band.  From  childhood  she  had  been 
familiar  with  the  legend,  “  France,  lost  through  a  maid, 
shall  by  a  maid  bo  saved.” 


I5« 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  PARC. 


The  story  of  her  exploits  at  court,  in  camp,  in  the  field, 
is  tamiliar  to  all  the  world.  A  thousand  vulgar  fictions 
obscure  and  degrade  its  essential  truth.  What  this 
untaught  girl  did  for  her  country  was  simply  this :  she 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  armies  of  France  the  influence 
of  what  our  own  Western  preachers  would  call  a  “  power¬ 
ful  revival  of  religion.”  From  bands  of  reckless  and 
dissolute  plunderers,  she  made  French  soldiers  orderly, 
Jecent,  moral,  and  devout.  Hope  revived.  She  made 
the  king  believe  in  himself ;  she  made  the  court  believe 
in  the  cause.  Men  of  faith  saw  in  her  the  expected  vir¬ 
gin  savior :  men  of  understanding  perceived  the  advant¬ 
age  to  their  side  of  having  her  thus  regarded.  She  may, 
too  (as  some  of  her  warrior  comrades  testified  in  later 
years),  have  really  possessed  some  military  talent,  as  well 
as  martial  ardor  and  inspiration.  They  said  of  her  that 
she  had  good  judgment  in  placing  artillery.  Later  in 
her  short  public  career  she  showed  herself  restless,  rash, 
uncontrollable  ;  she  made  mistakes ;  she  incurred  dis¬ 
asters.  But  for  many  months,  during  which  France 
regained  a  place  among  the  powers  of  Europe,  she  was  a 
glorious  presence  in  the  army — a  warrior  virgin,  in  bril¬ 
liant  attire,  splendidly  equipped,  superbly  mounted,  nobly 
attended  ;  a  leader  whom  all  eyes  followed  with  confiding 
admiration,  as  one  who  had  been  their  deliverer,  and 
was  still  their  chief.  The  lowliness  of  her  origin  was  an 
element  in  her  power  over  a  people  who  worshiped 
every  hour  a  Saviour  who  was  cradled  in  a  manger.  We 
can  still  read  over  the  door  of  an  ancient  inn  at  Rhcims, 
the  Maison  Rouge,  this  inscription :  “In  the  year  1429, 
at  the  coronation  of  Charles  VII,  in  this  tavern,  then 
called  The  Zebra,  the  father  and  mother  of  Jeanne  Dare 
lodged,  at  the  expense  of  the  City  Council.” 

Her  career  could  not  but  bo  brief.  When  she  left  home 
to  deliver  her  country,  she  had  lived,  according  to  the 


TIIE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


159 


most  recent  French  authorities,  seventeen  years  and  two 
months.  Fifteen  months  later,  May  24,  1439,  after  a 
series  of  important  victories  followed  by  minor  defeats, 
she  was  taken  prisoner  under  the  walls  of  Compidgnc, 
which  she  was  attempting  to  relieve.  French  troops, 
fighting  on  the  side  of  the  English,  captured  her  and 
held  her  prisoner.  French  priests,  in  the  metropolitan 
church  of  NcStre  Dame  at  Paris,  celebrated  her  capture 
by  a  “  Tc  Deum.”  It  is  doubtful  if  her  own  king 
lamented  her;  for  this  devoted,  deluded  girl  belonged  to 
the  order  of  mortals  whom  the  powers  of  this  world  often 
find  it  as  convenient  to  be  rid  of  as  to  use.  It  is  proba¬ 
ble  that  she  had  expended  her  power  to  be  of  service  and 
had  become  unmanageable.  Small,  needless  failures, 
chargeable  to  her  own  rash  impetuosity,  had  lessened  her 
prestige.  For  the  fair  and  wanton  Agnes  Sorel  the  idlo 
King  of  France  would  have  attempted  much  ;  but  I10 
made  no  serious  effort  to  ransom  or  to  rescue  the  Maid 
to  whom  he  owed  his  crown  and  kingdom. 

Politicians  are  much  the  same  in  every  age,  since  the 
work  they  have  to  do  is  much  the  same  in  every  age. 
Two  parties  as  well  as  two  kings  were  contending  for  the 
possession  of  France,  and  one  of  these,  by  the  prompt 
and  adroit  use  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans,  had  gained  for 
their  side  the  conquering  force  of  a  religious  revival. 
Bedford,  the  regent  of  the  kingdom,  who  had  seen  his 
conquests  falling  away  from  him  before  the  banner  of  a 
rustic  girl,  felt  the  necessity  of  depriving  his  rival  of  this 
advantage.  If  there  were  two  powers  contending  for  the 
kingdom  of  France,  were  there  not  two  powers  contending 
for  the  kingdom  of  this  world  ?  Loyal  France  had  accepted 
the  Maid  as  sent  from  God  ;  it  now  devolved  upon  the 
•English  regent  to  demonstrate  that  she  was  an  agent  of 
Satan.  He  bought  her  of  her  captors  for  ten  thousand 
pounds — a  vast  sum  for  that  period — and  had  her  brought 


i6o 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


to  Rouen,  a  chief  seat  of  the  English  power,  where  to  this 
day  the  bones  of  the  regent  lie  magnificently  entombed 
in  the  cathedral.  There  he  caused  a  trial  to  be  arranged, 
of  a  character  so  imposing  as  to  command  the  attention 
of  Europe.  No  homage  rendered  her  by  her  adherents 
conveys  to  us  such  a  sense  of  her  importance  as  this  trial 
contrived  by  an  able  ruler  to  neutralize  her  influence. 

A  politician  who  had  the  bestowal  of  church  prefer¬ 
ments  could  as  easily  find  ecclesiastics  to  execute  his  will 
as  a  politician,  who  has  only  tri\  ial,  precarious  offices  to 
give,  can  pack  a  convention  and  control  a  caucus.  Bed¬ 
ford’s  written  promise  of  the  archbishopric  of  Rouen 
made  Cauchon,  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  his  superserviccable 
agent,  through  whom  all  that  was  most  imposing  and 
authoritative  in  the  Church  convened  at  Rouen  to  try  the 
Maid.  Bishops,  abbds,  priors,  six  representatives  of  the 
University  of  Paris,  the  chief  officer  of  the  Inquisition, 
learned  doctors,  noted  priests — in  a  word,  sixty  of  the 
elite  of  the  Church  in  English  France,  all  of  them  French¬ 
men — assisted  at  the  trial. 

The  castle  at  Rouen,  a  vast  and  impregnable  edifice 
in  the  style  of  the  period,  was  the  scene  of  these  transac¬ 
tions.  The  great  tower  is  still  in  good  preservation ; 
the  rest  of  the  structure  has  disappeared.  This  gloomy- 
looking  extensive  edifice,  Jeanne  Bare’s  prison  and  court¬ 
house,  was  the  centre  of  interest  to  two  kingdoms 
during  her  half  year’s  detention.  It  swarmed  with  in¬ 
habitants.  As  if  to  nullify  the  Maid's  effective  stroke 
of  the  Rhcims  coronation,  the  uncles  of  the  English 
king,  who  was  not  yet  ten  years  of  age,  had  brought 
him  once  more  to  France,  and  lie  remained  an  inmate 
of  the  castle  of  Rouen  during  the  trial.  A  Norman 
chronicler,  who  saw  his  entry  into  Rouen  in  July, 
1430,  speaks  of  him  as  a  very  beautiful  hoy  (ung  tres 
lean  Jilz'),  and  adds  that  the  streets  through  which  he 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


l6l 

passed  were  more  magnificently  decorated  than  they  had 
ever  been  before  on  sacramental  days.  At  the  gate  were 
banners  on  which  were  blazoned  the  arms  of  England 
and  France ;  and  on  his  way  to  the  cathedral  the  people 
cheered  him  so  loudly  that  the  little  king  told  them  to 
cease,  for  they  made  too  much  noise.  Shows  were  exhib¬ 
ited  in  the  streets,  and  the  king  looked  at  them ;  and 
when  at  last  Ire  entered  his  castle,  the  bells  rang  out  a 
peal  as  if  God  himself  had  descended  from  heaven.  There 
he  remained  for  a  year  with  his  uncle  Bedford,  the  regent, 
his  grand-uncle  Beaufort,  Cardinal  of  Winchester,  his 
governor,  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  and  the  chief  officers  of 
both  the  royal  and  the  vice-royal  courts,  all  intent  upon 
undoing  in  France  what  a  village  maiden  had  wrought  in 
fifteen  months.  The  castle  was  pervaded  with  intense 
life,  and  an  ill-disciplined  host  of  guards  and  men-at-arms 
were  posted  about  it. 

Jeanne  Dare,  treated  by  her  French  captors  with 
decency  and  consideration,  and  detained  in  a  lordly 
chateau  more  as  a  guest  than  a  prisoner,  bore  the  first 
months  of  her  confinement  with  patience  and  dignity. 
On  one  point  only  she  showed  herself  obstinate :  she 
refused  to  lay  aside  her  man’s  dress.  The  people  of  that 
day,  if  we  may  judge  from  these  old  records,  held  in  par¬ 
ticular  horror  the  wearing  of  man’s  clothes  by  a  woman. 
The  ladies  of  the  chateau,  knowing  what  an  advantage 
this  costume  gave  her  enemies,  provided  her  with  woman’s 
clothes,  and  besought  her  to  put  them  on.  She  could  not 
be  persuaded  to  so,  alleging  that  she  had  assumed  her 
man’s  dress  by  Divine  command,  and  had  not  yet  received 
Divine  permission  to  change  it.  In  other  respects  she 
was  tractable,  and  seemed  absorbed  in  the  events  of  the 
war,  ever  longing  to  be  again  in  the  field. 

The  news  reached  her  at  length  that  she  had  been  sold 
to  the  English — the  dreadful  English  ! — and  was  about  to 


162 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


be  given  np  to  them.  “  I  would  rather  die,”  she  cried,  in 
despair,  “than  be  surrendered  to  the  English ! ”  Then 
her  thoughts  recurred  to  her  work  unfinished — her  coun¬ 
try  not  yet  delivered.  “  Is  it  possible,”  she  added,  “  that 
God  will  let  those  good  people  of  Compiegne  perish,  who 
have  been  and  arc  so  loyal  to  their  lord  ?  ”  Some  days  of 
anguish  passed.  Then  she  took  a  desperate  resolution. 
“  I  could  bear  it  no  longer,”  she  afterwards  said ;  and  so, 
“  recommending  herself  to  God  and  our  Lady,”  she  sprang 
one  night  from  the  tower  in  which  she  was  confined  to 
the  ground,  a  height,  as  M.  Quicherat  computes,  of 
between  sixty  and  seventy  feet.  It  was  her  only  chance, 
and  it  was  a  chance,  for  she  was  found  the  next  morning 
lying  at  the  foot  of  the  tower,  insensible,  indeed,  but  with 
no  bones  broken,  and  not  seriously  injured.  She  soon 
revived,  and  in  three  days  was  able  to  walk  about.  The 
English  claimed  their  prey,  and  soon  had  her  safe  in  the 
castle  of  Rouen. 

Her  new  masters  did  not  mean  that  she  should  escape. 
They  assigned  her  a  room  in  the  first  story  of  the  castle, 
“  up  eight  steps,”  placed  two  pair  of  shackles  upon  her 
legs,  and  chained  her  night  and  day  to  a  thick  post.  It  was 
their  policy  to  degrade  as  well  as  to  keep  her,  and  they 
accordingly  gave  her  five  guards  of  the  lowest  rank,  three 
of  whom  were  to  be  always  in  her  room,  night  and  day, 
and  two  outside.  In  this  woful  plight,  manacled,  chained, 
watched,  but  not  protected,  by  soldiers,  with  only  a  bed 
for  all  furniture,  was  she  held  captive  for  three  months, 
awaiting  trial — she  who  had  until  recently  shone  resplen¬ 
dent  at  the  head  of  armies,  and  to  whom  mothers  had 
held  up  their  children  as  she  passed  through  towns,  hop¬ 
ing  to  win  for  them  the  benediction  of  her  smile. 

Her  room,  we  are  told,  had  three  keys,  one  of  which 
was  kept  by  the  Cardinal  of  Winchester,  one  by  the 
Inquisitor,  anu  the  other  by  the  manager  of  the  trial; 


THE  TRIAL  OP  JEANNE  DARC. 


I63 

and  yet,  as  it  seems,  almost  any  one  who  chose  could 
enter  her  room,  gaze  upon  her,  and  even  converse  with 
her.  The  little  king  saw  her.  The  king’s  advocate 
visited  her,  and  jested  with  her  upon  her  condition,  saving 
that  she  would  not  have  come  to  Rouen  if  she  had  not 
been  brought  thither,  and  asking  if  she  had  known  before¬ 
hand  if  she  should  be  taken. 

“  I  feared  it,”  said  she. 

“  If  you  feared  it,”  he  asked,  “  why  were  you  not  upon 
your  guard  ?  ” 

She  replied,  “  I  did  not  know  the  day  nor  the  hour.” 

After  preliminaries  that  threatened  to  be  endless,  the 
public  part  of  the  trial  began  on  Wednesday,  February 
21,  1431,  at  eight  in  the  morning,  in  the  great  chapel  of 
the  chateau.  The  Bishop  of  Beauvais  presided,  and  of 
the  sixty  ecclesiastics  summoned  forty-four  were  present. 
Three  authorized  reporters  were  in  their  places,  and  there 
were  some  other  clerks,  concealed  by  a  curtain,  who  took 
notes  for  the  special  use  of  the  English  regent.  There 
was  a  crowd  of  spectators,  “  a  great  tumult  ”  in  the 
chapel,  and  very  little  order  in  the  proceedings.  At  a 
time  when  lords  took  their  dogs  and  hawks  into  church 
with  them,  and  merchants  made  their  bargains  in  the 
naves  of  cathedrals,  we  need  not  look  for  a  scrupulous 
decorum  in  a  court  convened  to  try  a  girl  for  the  crime  of 
being  “  vehemently  suspected  of  heresy.”  That  was  Ihe 
charge :  vehementement  suspccte  d'heresie.  And  such  a 
grand  tumult  was  there  in  the  chapel  that  day  that  the 
subsequent  sessions  were  held  in  a  smaller  hall  of  the 
castle. 

The  prisoner  was  brought  in,  freed  from  her  chains,  and 
was  allowed  to  sit.  No  one  of  the  many  pens  employed 
in  recording  the  events  of  this  day  has  given  us  any  hint 
of  her  appearance.  We  have,  indeed,  the  enumeration  of 
the  articles  oi  her  man’s  attire,  which  was  made  such  a 


164 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


heinous  charge  against  her :  “  The  hair  cut  round  like 
that  of  young  men,  shirt,  breeches,  doublet  with  twenty 
points  reaching  to  the  knee,  hat  covering  only  the  top  of 
the  head,  boots  and  gaiters,  with  spurs,  sword,  dagger, 
cuirass,  lance,  and  other  arms  carried  by  soldiers.”  This 
was  her  equipment  for  the  field.  She  still  wore  man’s 
dress,  and  doubtless  her  person  showed  the  effects  of  nine 
months’  imprisonment  and  three  months  of  chains  and 
fetters. 

The  presiding  bishop  told  her  to  place  her  hands  upon 
the  Gospel  and  swear  to  answer  truly  the  questions  that 
would  be  proposed  to  her.  “  I  do  not  know,”  said  she, 
“  upon  what  you  wish  to  question  me.  Perhaps  you  will 
ask  me  tilings  which  I  ought  not  to  tell  you.”  “  Swear,” 
rejoined  tfie  bishop,  “  to  tell  the  truth  upon  whatever  may 
be  asked  of  you  concerning  the  faith  and  the  facts  within 
your  knowledge.” 

“  As  to  my  father  and  mother,”  she  said,  “  and  what  I 
did  after  setting  out  for  France,  I  will  swear  willingly; 
but  the  revelations  which  have  come  to  me  from  God,  to 
no  one  have  I  related  or  revealed  them,  except  alone  to 
Charles,  my  king ;  and  I  shall  not  reveal  them  to  you 
though  you  cut  off  my  head,  because  I  have  received  them 
by  vision  and  by  secret  communication,  with  injunction 
not  to  reveal  them.  Before  eight  days  have  passed  I  shall 
know  if  I  am  to  reveal  them  to  you.” 

The  bishop  urged  her  again  and  again  to  take  the  oath 
without  conditions.  She  refused,  and  they  were  at  length 
obliged  to  yield  the  point,  and  accept  a  limited  oath. 
Upon  her  knees,  with  both  hands  placed  upon  a  missal, 
she  swore  to  answer  truly  whatever  might  be  asked  of 
her,  so  far  as  she  could,  concerning  the  common  faith  of 
Christians,  but  no  more.  Being  then  questioned  concern¬ 
ing  her  name  and  early  life,  she  answered  thus : 

“  In  my  own  country  I  was  called  Jeannette ;  since  I 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


165 


have  been  in  France  I  have  been  called  Jeanne.  As  to 
my  surname  I  know  nothing.  I  was  born  at  the  village 
of  Domremy,  which  makes  one  with  the  village  of  Gtreux. 
The  principal  church  is  at  Greux.  My  father  is  named 
Jacques  Dare;  my  mother  Ysabelle.  I  was  baptized  in 
the  church  of  Domremy.  One  of  my  godmothers  was 
named  Agnes,  another  Jeanne,  a  third  Sibylle.  One  of 
my  godfathers  was  Jean  Lingud,  another  Jean  Yarrey. 
I  had  several  other  godmothers,  as  I  have  heard  my 
mother  say.  I  was  baptized,  I  believe,  by  Messire  Jean 
Minet.  1  think  he  is  still  living.  I  think  I  am  about 
nineteen  years  of  age.  From  my  mother  I  learned  my 
Pater,  my  Ave  Marie,  and  my  Credo.  1  learned  from  my 
mother  all  that  I  believe.” 

“  Say  your  Pater,”  said  the  presiding  bishop. 

“  Hear  me  in  confession,  and  I  will  say  it  for  you  will- 
ingly.” 

Several  times  she  was  asked  to  say  the  Lord’s  Prayer, 
but  she  always  replied,  “  No,  I  will  not  say  my  Pater  for 
you  unless  you  hear  me  in  confession.” 

“  We  will  willingly  give  you,”  said  flic  bishop,  “one  or 
two  notable  men  who  speak  French ;  will  you  say  your 
Pater  to  them  ?  ” 

“  I  shall  not  say  it,”  was  her  reply,  “  unless  in  con¬ 
fession.” 

As  the  session  was  about  to  close,  the  bishop  forbade 
her  to  leave  the  prison  which  had  been  assigned  her  in  the 
castle,  under  pain  of  being  pronounced  guilty  of  heresy, 
the  crime  charged. 

“I  do  not  accept  such  an  injunction,”  she  replied.  “If 
ever  I  escape,  no  one  shall  be  able  to  reproach  me  with 
having  broken  my  faith,  as  I  have  not  given  my  word  to 
any  person  whatever.”  She  continued  to  speak,  in 
language  not  recorded,  complaining  that  they  had  bound 
her  with  chains  and  shackles. 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


1 66 

“You  tried  several  times,”  said  the  bishop,  “to  escapu 
from  the  prison  where  you  were  detained,  and  it  was  to 
keep  you  more  surely  that  you  were  ordered  to  be  put  in 
irons.” 

“  It  is  true,”  was  her  reply,  “  I  wished  to  get  away,  and 
I  wish  it  still.  Is  that  not  a  thing  allowed  to  every 
prisoner  ?” 

She  was  then  removed  to  her  chamber,  and  the  court 
broke  up.  The  next  morning  at  eight,  in  the  robing-room 
of  the  chateau — a  large  apartment  near  the  great  drawing¬ 
room — the  court  again  convened,  forty-seven  .dignitai’ies 
of  the  Church  being  assembled.  Again  the  captive  was 
unchained  and  brought  in.  Again  she  sat  in  the  presence 
of  this  convocation  of  trained  men,  alone,  without 
advocate,  counsel,  or  attorney.  She  understood  the  issue 
between  herself  and  them.  The  managers  of  the  trial 
meant  to  make  France  believe  that  this  girl  was  an 
emissary  of  the  devil,  and  thus  she  felt  herself  compelled 
to  fail  back  upon  her  claim  to  be  the  chosen  of  God,  and 
to  insist  upon  this  with  painful  repetition.  We  must  bear 
in  mind  that  she  was  absolutely  severed  from  all  active, 
efficient  human  sympathy.  It  was  a  contest  between  one 
poor,  ignorant  girl  and  the  managers  of  the  court,  paid 
and  backed  by  the  power  that  governed  all  England  and 
half  France,  with  the  stake  as  the  certain  consequence  to 
her  of  an  erroneous  line  of  defence.  In  all  the  trial  she 
was  the  only  witness  examined. 

Again  the  bishop  required  her  to  take  the  oath  without 
conditions ;  to  which  she  replied,  “  I  swore  yesterday ; 
that  ought  to  suffice.” 

“  Every  person,”  said  the  bishop,  “  though  he  were  a 
prince,  being  required  to  swear  in  any  matter  relating  to 
the  faith,  cannot  refuse.” 

“  I  took  the  oath  yesterday,”  said  she ;  “  that  ought  to 
be  sufficient  for  you.  You  ask  too  much  of  me.”  The 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


I67 


contest  ended  as  on  the  day  before.  She  was  then  inter¬ 
rogated  by  Jean  Beaupere,  a  distinguished  professor  of 
theology. 

“  How  old  were  you  when  you  left  your  father’s  house  ?  ” 
“As  to  my  age,  I  cannot  answer  ” 

“  Did  you  learn  any  trade  in  your  youth  ?  ” 

“  Yes  ;  I  learned  to  spin  and  sew.  In  sewing  and  spin¬ 
ning  I  fear  no  woman  in  Rouen.  For  fear  of  the 
Burgundians*  I  left  my  father’s  house  and  went  to  the 
city  of  Neufchateau,  in  Lorraine,  to  the  house  of  a  woman 
named  La  Rousse,  where  I  remained  about  fifteen  days. 
While  I  was  at  my  father’s  I  assisted  at  the  usual  labors 
of  the  house.  I  was  not  accustomed  to  go  to  the  fields 
witli  the  sheep  and  other  animals.  Every  year  I  con¬ 
fessed  to  my  own  pastor,  and,  when  he  was  engaged,  to 
another  priest  with  his  permission.  Sometimes,  also — • 
two  or  three  times,  I  believe — I  confessed  to  religious 
mendicants.  That  was  at  Neufchateau.  At  Easter  I 
received  the  sacrament  of  the  Eucharist.” 

“Did  you  receive  the  sacrament  of  the  Eucharist  at 
other  festivals  besides  Easter  ?  ” 

“  No  matter.  I  was  thirteen  years  old  when  I  had  a 
voice  from  God,  which  called  upon  me  to  conduct  myself 
well.  The  first  time  I  heard  that  voice  I  was  terrified. 
It  was  noom,  in  summer,  in  my  father’s  garden.  I  had 
not  fasted  the  evening  before.  I  heard  that  voice  at  my 
right,  toward  the  church.  I  seldom  heard  it  when  it  was 
not  accompanied  by  a  flash.  This  flash  came  from  the 
same  side  as  the  voice.  Usually  it  was  very  brilliant. 
Since  I  have  been  in  France  I  have  often  heard  that 
voice.” 

“  But  how  could  you  see  the  flash  which  you  mentioned, 
since  it  was  on  one  side  ?  ” 


*  French  faction  siding  with  the  English. 


i68 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


She  did  not  answer  this  foolish  question,  but  immedi¬ 
ately  resumed,  thus : 

“  If  I  was  in  a  forest  I  would  hear  the  voice,  for  it 
would  come  to  me.  It  appeared  to  me  to  come  from  lips 
worthy  of  respect ;  I  believe  it  was  sent  to  me  by  God. 
When  I  heard  it  for  the  third  time  I  recognized  that  it 
was  the  voice  of  an  angel.  That  voice  has  always  guarded 
me  well,  and  I  have  always  well  understood  it.  It  told 
me  to  behave  well  and  to  go  often  to  church ;  it  said  to 
me  that  I  must  go  into  France.  Do  you  ask  me  in  what 
form  that  voice  appeared  to  me  ?  You  will  not  have  more 
about  it  from  me  this  time.  Two  or  three  times  a  week 
it  said  to  me,  ‘  You  must  go  into  France!’  My  father 
knew  nothing  about  my  going.  The  voice  said  to  mo, 
‘  Go  into  France !  ’  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  It  said  to 
me :  ‘  Go ;  raise  the  siege  of  the  city  of  Orleans.  Go,’ 
it  added,  £  to  Robert  de  Laudricourt,  commandant  of 
Yaucouleurs ;  he  will  furnish  people  to  accompany  you.’ 
Rut  I  am  a  poor  girl,  who  knows  neither  how  to  ride  on 
horseback  nor  make  war !  I  went  to  my  uncle’s  house, 
and  told  him  my  wish  to  remain  with  him  some  time  ; 
and  there  I  remained  eight  days.  To  him  I  said  I  must 
go  to  Yaucouleurs.  lie  took  me  there.  When  I  arrived 
I  knew  Robert  de  Baudricourt,  although  I  had  never  seen 
him.  I  knew  him,  thanks  to  my  voice,  which  caused  me 
to  know  him.  I  said  to  Robert,  ‘  I  must  go  into  France.’ 
Twice  Robert  refused  to  hear  me,  and  repelled  me.  The 
third  time  he  received  me,  and  furnished  me  men  ;  the 
voice  had  said  that  it  would  be  so.  The  Due  de  Lorraine 
sent  orders  to  have  me  brought  to  him.  I  went ;  I  said 
to  him  that  I  wished  to  go  into  France.  The  duke  ques¬ 
tioned  me  upon  his  health,  and  I  told  him  I  knew  nothing 
about  it.  I  spoke  to  him  little  about  my  journey.  I  told 
him  he  had  to  furnish  me  his  son  and  some  people  to 
conduct  me  into  France,  and  that  I  would  pray  to  God  for 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


169 

his  health.  I  went  to  him  with  a  safe-conduct;  thence  I 
returned  to  Vaucouleurs.  From  Vaucouleurs  I  set  one 
dressed  like  a  man,  with  a  sword  given  me  by  Robert  de 
Baudricourt,  without  other  arms.  I  had  with  me  a 
knight,  a  squire,  and  four  servants,  with  whom  I  reached 
the  city  of  St.  Urbain,  where  I  slept  in  an  abbey.  On  the 
way  I  passed  through  Auxerre,  where  I  heard  mass  in  tire 
principal  church.  At  that  time  I  often  had  my  voices.” 

“  Who  advised  you  to  wear  men’s  clothes  ?  ” 

Again  and  again  she  refused  all  answer  to  this  question; 
but  at  last  she  said,  “I  charge  no  one  with  that.”  Then 
cite  ran  on  in  this  manner:  ‘‘Robert  de  Baudricourt 
made  the  men  who  accompanied  me  swear  to  conduct  me 
safely  and  well.  ‘Go,’  said  he  to  me — ‘  go,  let  come  of 
it  what  will !  ’  I  well  know  that  God  loves  the  Due 
d’Orldans ;  I  have  had  more  revelations  about  the  Due 
d’Orldans  than  about  any  living  man  except  my  king.  I 
had  to  change  my  woman’s  dress  for  a  man’s.  Upon  that 
point  my  counsel  advised  me  well.  I  sent  a  letter  to  the 
English  before  Orleans,  telling  them  to  depart,  as  appears 
from  a  copy  of  my  letter  which  has  been  read  in  this  city 
of  Rouen ;  but  in  that  copy  there  are  two  or  three  words 
which  are  not  in  my  letter.  ‘  Yield  to  the  Maid,’  ought 
to  be  changed  to  ‘  Yield  to  the  king.’  These  words  also 
are  not  in  my  letter — ‘  body  for  body,’  and  ‘chief  of  war.’ 
I  went  without  difficulty  to  the  king.  Having  arrived  at 
the  village  of  St.  Catherine  de  Ficrbois,  I  sent  for  the 
first  time  to  the  chateau  of  Chinon,  where  the  king  was. 
I  reached  Chinon  toward  noon,  and  took  lodgings  at  first 
at  an  inn.  After  dinner  I  went  to  the  king,  who  was  in 
the  chateau.  When  I  entered  the  room  where  lie  was,  I 
knew  him  among  many  others  by  the  counsel  of  my 
voice,  which  revealed  him  to  me.  I  told  him  that  I 
wished  to  go  and  make  war  against  the  English.” 

“  When  the  voice  showed  you  the  king,  was  there  any 
fight  there  ?  ” 


170 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


“  Pass  on.” 

“  Did  you  see  any  angel  above  the  king?’* 

“  Spare  me ;  pass  on.  Before  the  king  sent  me  to  the 
field,  he  had  many  apparitions  and  beautiful  revelations.” 
“  What  revelations  and  apparitions  did  the  king  have  ?  ” 
“  I  shall  not  tell  you.  This  is  not  the  time  to  answer 
you ;  but  send  to  the  king ;  he  will  tell  you.  The  voice 
had  promised  me  that  as  soon  as  I  had  reached  the  king, 
he  would  receive  me.  Those  of  my  party  knew  well  that 
the  voice  was  sent  me  from  God ;  they  saw  and  knew 
that  voice.  I  am  certain  of  it.  My  king  and  several 
others  have  heard  and  seen  the  voices  which  came  to  me ; 
there  was  Charles  de  Bourbon  and  two  or  three  others. 
No  day  passes  in  which  I  do  not  hear  that  voice,  and  I 
have  much  need  of  it.  But  never  have  I  demanded  of  it 
any  recompense  except  the  salvation  of  my  soul.  The 
voice  told  me  to  remain  at  St.  Denis,  in  Prance,  and  I 
wished  to  do  so ;  but  against  my  will  the  lords  mad?  me 
set  out  thence.  If  I  had  not  been  wounded,  I  should  not 
have  gone.  After  having  left  St.  Denis,  I  was  wounded 
in  the  defences  of  Paris ;  but  I  was  cured  in  five  days. 
It  is  true  that  I  made  a  skirmish  before  Paris  ” 

“  Was  not  that  on  a  holy  day?” 

“  I  believe  it  was.” 

“  Was  it  well  to  make  an  assault  on  a  holy  day  ?  ” 

To  this  she  only  replied  by  saying : 

“  Pass  on,”  and  the  questioning  then  ceased  for  the 
day.  The  next  morning,  for  the  first  time,  a  full  court 
was  present,  the  presiding  bishop  and  sixty-two  alibis, 
priors,  and  other  priests.  Little  was  extracted  from  her 
during  this  day’s  examination,  although  she  made  some 
spirited  answers.  Being  asked  if  she  knew  that  she  was 
in  a  state  of  grace,  she  said,  “  If  I  am  not,  God  put  me  in 
it !  if  I  am,  God  keep  me  in  it !  ”  They  asked  her  if  the 
people  of  her  village  were  not  of  the  French  party. 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


171 

The  old  village  partisanship  blazed  up  in  her  answer: 
“  If  I  had  known  one  Burgundian  at  Domremy,  I  should 
have  been  willing  to  have  his  head  cut  off  —  that  is,  if  it 
had  pleased  God.” 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  the  Monday  following 
was  probably  some  holy  day  of  Lent,  for  the  next  session 
of  the  court  occurred  on  Tuesday,  when  she  was  exam¬ 
ined  by  the  same  “  Master  Bcaupere,”  distinguished 
theologian.  He  questioned  her  long,  and  led  her  on  to 
admissions  which  her  enemies  knew  well  how  to  uso 
against  her. 

“  How  have  you  been  since  Saturday  last  ?  ” 

“You  see  well  how  I  have  been;  I  have  been  as  well 
as  I  could  be.” 

“  Ho  you  fast  every  day  during  this  Lent  ?” 

“  Has  that  anything  to  do  with  the  case?  No  matter: 
yes,  I  have  fasted  every  day  during  this  Lent.” 

“  Have  you  heard  your  voice  since  Saturday  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  indeed,  and  several  times.” 

“  On  Saturday  did  you  hear  it  in  this  hall  where  you 
are  questioned?” 

“  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  your  case.  No  mailer  : 
yes,  I  heard  it.” 

“  What  did  it  say  to  you  last  Saturday  ?  ” 

“  I  did  not  well  understand  it,  and  I  heard  nothing 
that  I  can  repeat  to  you  until  I  had  gone  to  my  chamber.” 

“  What  did  it  say  to  you  in  your  chamber  on  your 
return  ?” 

“  It  said  to  me,  ‘  Answer  them  boldly.’  I  take  counsel 
of  my  voices  upon  what  you  ask  me.  I  shall  willingly 
tell  you  what  I  shall  have  from  God  permission  to  reveal ; 
but  as  to  the  revelations  concerning  the  King  of  France, 
I  shall  not  tell  them  without  the  permission  of  my  voicu.** 

“Has  your  voice  forbidden  you  to  reveal  all  ?” 

“  I  have  not  well  understood  it.” 

11 


172 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


“  What  did  the  voice  tell  you  last?” 

“  I  asked  advice  of  it  upon  certain  things  which  you 
asked  me.” 

“  Did  it  give  you  that  advice  ?” 

“  Upon  some  points,  yes  ;  upon  others  you  may  ask  me 
information  which  I  shall  not  give  you,  not  having 
received  permission.  For  if  I  should  respond  without 
permission,  I  should  have  no  more  voices  to  second  me. 
When  I  shall  have  permission  from  our  Lord,  I  shall  not 
fear  to  speak,  because  I  shall  have  warrant  so  to  do.” 

“  Was  the  voice  which  spoke  to  you  that  of  an  angel, 
of  a  saint,  or  of  God  directly?” 

“  It  was  the  voice  of  St.  Catherine  and  St.  Margaret. 
Their  heads  were  adorned  with  beautiful  crowns,  very 
rich  and  very  precious.  I  have  permission  from  our 
Lord  to  tell  you  so  much.  If  you  have  any  doubt  of  this, 
send  to  Poitiers,  where  I  was  formerly  interrogated.” 

“  How  did  you  know  that  they  were  saints  ?  How  did 
you  distinguish  one  from  the  other  ?  ” 

“  I  know  well  that  they  were  saints,  and  I  easily  dis¬ 
tinguish  one  from  the  other.” 

“How  do  you  distinguish  them?” 

“  By  the  salute  which  they  make  me.  Seven  years 
have  passed  since  they  undertook  to  guide  me.  I  know 
them  well,  because  they  have  named  themselves  to  me.” 

“  Were  those  two  saints  clad  in  the  same  fabric  ?” 

“  For  the  moment  I  shall  tell  you  no  more ;  I  have  not 
permission  to  reveal  it.  If  you  do  not  believe  me,  go  to 
Poitiers.  There  are  some  revelations  which  belong  to 
the  King  of  France,  and  not  to  you  who  interrogate  me.” 

“Are  the  two  saints  of  the  same  age?” 

“  I  am  not  permitted  to  tell.” 

“  Did  both  speak  at  once,  or  one  at  a  time  ?  ” 

“I  have  not  permission  to  tell  you;  nevertheless,  I 
have  always  had  counsel  from  both.” 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


173 


«  Which  appeared  to  you  first  ?  ” 

“  I  distinguished  them  one  from  the  other.  I  knew 
how  I  did  it  once,  but  I  have  forgotten.  If  I  receive  per¬ 
mission  I  will  willingly  tell  you ;  it  is  written  in  the 
record  at  Poitiers.  I  have  received  comfort  also  from 
St.  Michael.” 

“Which  of  those  two  apparitions  came  to  you  first?” 

“  St.  Michael.” 

“Was  it  a  long  time  ago  that  you  heard  the  voice  of 
St.  Michael  for  the  first  time  ?” 

“  I  did  not  mention  the  voice  of  St.  Michael ;  I  told  you 
that  I  had  great  comfort  from  him.” 

“  What  was  the  first  voice  that  came  to  you  when  you 
were  about  thirteen  years  of  age  ?  ” 

“  It  was  St.  Michael.  I  saw  him  before  my  eyes ;  he 
was  not  alone,  but  w'as  surrounded  by  angels  from  heaven. 
I  only  came  into  France  by  the  command  of  God.” 

“  Did  you  see  St.  Michael  and  those  angels  in  a  bodily 
form,  and  in  reality  ?” 

“  I  saw  them  with  the  eyes  of  my  body  as  well  as  I  can 
see  you.  When  they  left  me  I  wept,  and  wished  to  be 
borne  away  with  them.” 

“I11  what  form  was  St.  Michael  ?” 

“  You  will  have  no  other  answer  from  me  ;  I  have  not 
yet  license  to  tell  you.” 

“  What  did  St.  Michael  say  to  you  that  first  time  ?” 

“  You  will  have  no  answer  to-day.  My  voices  said  to 
me,  ‘Answer  boldly.’  I  told  the  king  at  once  all  that 
was  revealed  to  me,  because  that  concerned  him ;  but  I 
'lave  not  yet  permission  to  reveal  to  you  all  that  St. 
Michael  said  to  me.  I  should  be  very  glad  if  you  had  a 
lopy  of  that  book  which  is  at  Poitiers,  if  it  please  God.” 

“  Have  your  voices  forbidden  you  to  make  known  your 
’cvelations  without  permission  from  them  ?  ” 

“  I  do  not  answer  you  upon  that  point.  So  far  as  I 


174 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


have  received  permission  I  shall  answer  willingly.  I  did 
not  quite  understand  if  my  voices  forbade  me  to  reply.” 

“  What  sign  do  you  give  that  you  received  that  revela¬ 
tion  from  God,  and  that  it  was  St.  Catherine  and  St.  Mar¬ 
garet  who  conversed  with  you  ?  ” 

“  I  have  told  you  it  was  they ;  believe  me  if  you  wish.” 

“  Is  it  forbidden  you  to  tell  it  ?  ” 

“  I  did  not  quite  understand  whether  it  was  forbidden 
me  or  not.” 

“  How  can  you  distinguish  the  things  which  you  have 
permission  to  reveal  from  those  which  you  are  forbidden?” 

“Upon  certain  points  I  have  asked  permission,  and 
upon  some  I  have  obtained  it.  Rather  than  have  come 
into  France  without  God’s  permission,  I  would  have  been 
torn  asunder  by  four  horses.” 

“  Did  God  command  you  to  dress  like  a  man  ?  ” 

“  As  to  that  dress,  it  is  a  trifle — less  than  nothing.  I 
did  not  take  it  by  the  advice  of  any  living  man ;  neither 
put  on  this  dress  nor  did  anything  else  except  by  the 
command  of  our  Lord  and  the  angels.” 

“  Does  the  command  to  wear  a  man’s  dress  seem  to  you 
lawful  [licite]  ?” 

“  All  that  I  have  done  was  by  the  command  of  our 
Lord.  If  lie  had  told  me  to  wear  another  dress,  I  should 
have  worn  it,  because  it  was  His  command.” 

“  Did  you  not  assume  this  costume  by  the  order  of 
Robert  de  Baudricourt  ?  ” 

“  No.” 

“  Do  you  think  you  did  well  to  wear  a  man’s  dress  ? 

“All  that  I  did  was  by  our  Lord’s  order:  I  believe  1 
did  do  well.  I  expect  from  it  good  security  and  good 
succor.” 

“  In  this  particular  case,  the  wearing  of  a  man’s  dress, 
do  you  think  you  did  well  ?  ” 

“  I  have  done  nothing  in  the  world  except  by  the  com¬ 
mand  of  God.” 


THE  TRIAL  OB'  JEANNE  DARC.  175 

“  When  you  saw  that  voice  come  to  you,  was  there  any 
light  ?  ” 

“  There  was  much  light  on  all  sides,  as  there  should 
have  been.”  (To  the  interrogator).  “There  does  not 
come  as  much  to  you.” 

“  W as  there  an  angel  above  your  king’s  head  when  you 
saw  him  for  the  first  time  ?  ” 

“  By  our  Lady  !  if  there  was  one,  I  know  nothing  about 
it.  I  did  not  see  him.” 

“Was  there  any  light?” 

“  There  were  more  than  three  hundred  knights,  and 
more  than  fifty  torches,  without  counting  the  spiritual 
light.  I  rarely  have  revelations  without  light.” 

“  How  was  your  king  enabled  to  believe  in  your 
claims  ?  ” 

“  He  had  good  signs,  and  the  learned  clergy  rendered 
me  good  testimony.” 

“  What  revelations  did  your  king  have  ?  ” 

“  You  will  not  have  them  from  me  this  year.  I  was 
interrogated  for  three  weeks  by  the  clergy  at  Chinon  and 
at  Poitiers.  Before  being  willing  to  believe  me,  the  king 
had  a  sign  of  the  truth  of  my  statement,  and  the  clergy 
of  my  party  were  of  opinion  that  there  was  nothing  but 
good  in  my  undertaking.” 

“  Were  you  at  St.  Catherine  do  Fierbois  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  and  there  I  heard  three  masses  in  one  day ;  then 
I  went  to  the  chateau  of  Chinon,  whence  I  sent  a  letter 
to  the  king  to  know  if  he  would  grant  me  an  interview, 
^telling  him  that  I  had  traveled  a  hundred  and  fifty 
leagues  to  come  to  his  assistance,  and  that  I  knew  many 
things  favorable  to  him.  I  think  I  remember  saying  in 
my  letter  that  I  should  know  how  to  recognize  lnm  among 
all  others.  I  had  a  sword  which  I  obtained  at  Vau- 
couleurs.  Whilst  I  was  at  Tours  or  at  Chinon,  I  sent  to 
seek  a  sword  which  was  in  the  church  of  St.  Catherine  do 


i;6 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


Fierbois,  behind  tlic  altar  ;  and  there  it  was  immediately 
found,  covered  with  rust.  That  sword  was  in  the  earth 
rusty ;  above  it  there  were  five  crosses ;  I  knew  by  my 
voice  where  the  sword  was.  I  never  saw  the  man  who 
w'ent  to  find  it.  I  wrote  to  the  priests  of  the  place  asking 
them  if  I  might  have  that  sword,  and  they  sent  it  to  me. 
It  was  under  the  ground,  not  very  deep,  behind  the  altar, 
as  it  seems  to  me.  I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  it  was 
before  or  behind  the  altar,  hut  I  think  I  wrote  it  was 
behind.  As  soon  as  it  was  found,  the  priests  of  the 
church  rubbed  it,  and  at  once,  without  effort,  the  rust  fell 
off.  It  was  an  armorer  of  Tours  who  went  to  find  it. 
The  priests  of  Fierbois  made  me  a  present  of  a  scabbard, 
those  of  Tours  of  another ;  one  was  of  crimson  velvet, 
the  other  of  cloth  of  gold.  I  caused  a  third  to  be  made 
of  very  strong  leather.  When  I  was  taken  I  had  not  that 
sword  on.  I  always  wore  the  sword  of  Fierbois  from  the 
time  I  had  it  until  my  departure  from  St.  Denis,  after  the 
assault  upon  Paris.” 

“  What  benediction  did  you  pronounce,  or  cause  to  be 
pronounced,  upon  that  sword  ?  ” 

“  I  neither  blessed  it  nor  had  it  blessed ;  I  should  not 
have  known  how  to  do  it.  Much  I  loved  that  sword, 
because  it  was  found  in  the  church  of  St.  Catherine, 
whom  I  warmly  love.” 

“Did  you  sometimes  place  your  sword  upon  an  altar, 
and  in  so  placing  it  was  it  that  your  sword  might  be  more 
fortunate  ?  ” 

“  Not  that  I  remember.” 

“Did  you  sometimes  pray  that  it  might  be  more  for¬ 
tunate  ?  ” 

“  Beyond  question,  I  wished  iny  arms  to  be  very  for¬ 
tunate.” 

“  Had  you  that  sword  on  when  you  were  taken  ?  ” 

“  No ;  I  had  one  that  had  been  taken  from  a  Bur¬ 
gundian.” 


TIIE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


1 77 


“  Where  was  the  sword  of  Fierbois  ?  ” 

“  I  offered  a  sword  and  some  arms  to  St.  Denis,  but  it 
was  not  that  sword.  The  sword  I  then  wrore  I  got  at 
Lagny,  and  wore  it  from  Lagny  even  to  Compiegne.  It 
was  a  good  sword  for  service ;  excellent  to  give  good 
whacks  and  wipes  [torchons].  As  to  what  has  become 
of  the  other  sword,  it  does  not  regard  this  trial,  and  I 
shall  not  now  reply  thereupon.  My  brothers  have  all  my 
property,  my  horses,  my  sword,  as  I  suppose,  and  the  rest, 
worth  more  than  twelve  thousand  crowns.” 

“  When  you  were  at  Orleans,  had  you  a  standard  or 
banner,  and  of  what  color  was  it  ?” 

“  I  had  a  banner,  the  ground  of  which  was  covered  with 
lilies ;  and  there  was  a  picture  upon  it  of  the  world,  with 
an  angel  on  each  side.  It  was  white,  of  the  white  fabric 
called  fustian  [ boucassin ].  There  was  written  upon  it,  I 
think,  ‘  Jhesus  Maria,’  and  it  was  fringed  with  silk.” 

“  Were  the  names  of  Jhesus  Maria  written  on  the 
upper  or  the  under  part,  on  the  lower,  or  on  one  side  ?” 

“Upon  one  side,  I  believe.” 

“  Which  did  you  love  best,  your  banner  or  your  sword  ?” 

“  Much  better,  forty  times  better,  my  banner  than  my 
sword.” 

“  Who  caused  you  to  have  that  picture  made  upon  your 
banner  ?” 

“  Often  enough  I  have  told  you  that  I  did  nothing 
except  by  the  command  of  God.  It  was  myself  who 
carried  that  banner  when  I  attacked  the  enemy,  in  order 
to  avoid  killing  any  one,  for  I  have  never  killed  a  single 
person.” 

“  What  force  did  your  king  give  you  when  he  accepted 
your  services  ?  ” 

“  He  gave  me  ten  or  twelve  thousand  men.  At  first  I 
went  to  Orleans,  to  the  tower  of  St.  Loup,  and  afterward 
to  that  of  the  bridge.” 


i;8 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


“  At  the  attack  of  which  tower  was  it  that  you  with- 
drew  your  men  ?  ” 

“  I  do  not  remember.  I  was  very  sure  of  raising  the 
seige  of  Orleans  ;  1  had  had  a  revelation  on  the  subject ; 
I  told  the  king  before  going  there  I  should  raise  it.” 

“  Before  the  assault,  did  you  tell  your  people  that  you 
alone  would  receive  the  javelins  and  the  stones  thrown 
by  the  machines  and  cannons?” 

“  No ;  a  hundred  of  my  people,  and  even  more  were 
wounded.  I  said  to  them,  ‘  Fear  not,  and  you  will  raise 
the  siege.’  At  the  assault  of  the  bridge  tower  I  was 
wounded  in  the  neck  with  an  arrow  or  lance ;  but  I  had 
great  comfort  from  St.  Catherine,  and  I  was  cured  in  less 
than  fifteen  days.  I  did  not  cease  on  that  account  to  ride 
on  horseback  and  to  labor.  I  knew  well  I  should  be 
wounded  ;  I  told  my  king  so,  but  that,  notwithstanding,  J 
should  keep  at  work.  They  had  been  revealed  to  me  by 
the  voices  of  my  two  saints,  blessed  Catherine  and  blessed 
Margaret.  It  was  I  who  first  placed  a. ladder  against  the 
tower,  and  it  was  in  raising  that  ladder  that  I  was 
wounded  in  the  neck  by  the  lance.” 

The  session  ended  soon  after,  and  the  prisoner  was 
removed.  There  were  six  of  these  public  examinations, 
but  nothing  further  of  much  importance  was  elicited  by 
them. 

The  public  examinations  being  at  an  end,  the  court 
took  a  week  to  review  and  consider  the  evidence  obtained. 
They  decided  that  further  light  was  needed  on  somo 
points,  and  ordered  that  she  should  be  examined  in  secret 
by  seven  learned  doctors,  and  her  answers  recorded  for 
the  subsequent  use  of  the  whole  court.  There  were  nine 
of  these  secret  questionings,  but  she  adhered  to  her  fatal 
line  of  defence,  ever  insisting  upon  her  supernatural  pre¬ 
tensions,  and  adding  particulars  which  placed  her  more 
hopelessly  than  before  in  the  power  of  her  enemies.  To 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


179 


complete  the  reader’s  view  of  this  portion  of  the  trial,  I 
select  one  of  these  secret  examinations  (the  fourth)  for 
translation,  in  which  she  overtasked  the  credulity  even  of 
her  adherents,  and  made  her  well-wishers  in  the  court 
powerless  to  serve  her. 

“  What  was  the  sign  which  you  gave  your  king?” 

“  Would  you  like  me  to  perjure  myself  ?” 

“  Have  you  promised  and  sworn  to  St.  Catherine  not  to 
reveal  that  sign  ?” 

“  I  have  sworn  and  promised  not  to  reveal  that  sign, 
and  of  my  own  accord,  too,  because  they  pressed  me  too 
much  to  reveal  it ;  and  then  I  said  to  myself:  I  promise 
not  to  speak  of  it  to  any  man  in  the  world.  The  sign 
was  that  an  angel  assured  my  king,  -when  bringing  him 
the  crown,  that  he  would  possess  the  whole  kingdom  of 
France,  through  the  help  of  God  and  my  labor.  The 
angel  told  him  also  to  set  me  at  work,  that  is  to  say,  give 
me  some  soldiers,  or  otherwise  he  would  not  be  crowned 
and  anointed  so  soon.” 

“  Have  you  spoken  to  St.  Catherine  since  yesterday  ?  ” 

“  I  have  heard  her  since  yesterday,  and  she  told  me 
several  times  to  answer  the  judges  boldly  concerning 
whatever  they  should  ask  me  touching  my  case.” 

“  How  did  the  angel  carry  the  crown  ?  and  did  lie  place 
it  himself  upon  your  king’s  head  ?  ” 

“  The  crown  was  given  to  an  archbishop,  namely,  the 
Archbishop  of  Rheims,  I  believe  in  my  king’s  presence. 
The  archbishop  received  it,  and  remitted  it  tb  the  king. 
I  was  myself  present.  The  crown  was  afterward  placed 
in  my  king’s  treasury.” 

v  Where  was  it  that  the  crown  was  brought  to  the 
king?” 

It  was  in  the  king’s  chamber  at  tlvc  chateau  of 
Chinon.” 

“  What  day  and  hour  ?  ” 


l8o 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


“  As  to  the  I  day,  know  not ;  in  regard  to  the  hour  it 
was  early.  I  have  no  further  recollection  concerning  it. 
For  the  month,  it  was  March  or  April,  it  seems  to  me, 
two  years  from  the  present  month.  It  was  after  Easter.” 

“  Was  it  the  first  day  of  your  seeing  this  sign  that 
your  king  saw  it  also  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  he  saw  it  the  same  day.” 

“  Of  what  material  was  the  said  crown  ?  ” 

“  It  is  good  to  know  that  it  was  fine  gold ;  so  rich  was 
it  that  I  should  not  know  how  to  estimate  its  value,  nor 
appreciate  its  beauty.  The  crown  signified  that  my  king 
should  possess  the  kingdom  of  France.” 

“  Were  there  any  precious  stones  in  it  ?  ” 

“  I  have  told  you  what  I  know  of  it.” 

“  Did  you  handle  or  kiss  it?” 

“  No.” 

“Did  the  angel  who  brought  that  crown  come  from 
heaven  or  earth  ?  ” 

“He  came  from  on  high,  and  I  understand  he  came 
by  the  command  of  our  Lord.  He  entered  by  the  door 
of  the  chamber.  When  he  came  before  my  king,  lie 
paid  homage  to  him  by  bowing  before  him,  and  by  pro¬ 
nouncing  the  words  which  I  have  already  mentioned,  and 
at  the  same  time  recalled  to  his  memory  the  beautiful 
.patience  with  which  he  had  borne  his  great  troubles. 
The  angel  walked  from  the  door,  and  touched  the  floor  in 
coming  to  the  king.” 

“  How  faT  was  it  from  the  door  to  the  king  ?  ” 

“  My  impression  is  that  it  was  about  the  length  of  a 
lance  ;  and  he  returned  by  the  same  way  he  had  entered. 
When  the  angel  came,  I  accompanied  him,  and  went  with 
him  up  the  staircase  to  the  king’s  chamber.  The  angel 
entered  first,  and  then  myself,  and  I  said  to  the  king, 
‘  Sire,  here  is  your  sign :  take  it.’  ” 

“  In  what  place  did  the  angel  appear  to  you  ?  ” 


THE  THIAL  OF  JEANXE  DAEC. 


1 8  r 

“  I  was  almost  continually  in  prayer  that  God  would 
send  a  sign  to  the  king,  and  I  -was  in  my  lodgings  at  a 
good  woman’s  house  near  the  chateau  of  Chinon  when 
he  came ;  then  we  went  together  toward  the  king ;  he 
was  accompanied  by  other  angels  whom  no  one  saw.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  love  of  me,  and  to  put  me  beyond  the 
reach  of  those  who  accused  me,  I  believe  several  who  saw 
the  angel  would  not  have  seen  him.” 

“  Did  all  who  were  with  the  king  see  the  angel  ?” 

“  I  believe  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims  saw  him,  as  well 
as  the  lords  D’AlenQon,  La  Tr^mouille,  and  Charles  de 
Bourbon.  As  to  the  crown,  many  churchmen  and  others 
saw  it  who  did  not  see  the  angel.” 

“  Of  what  countenance,  of  what  stature,  was  that 
angel  ?  ” 

“  I  have  not  permission  to  say  ;  to-morrow  I  will  answer 
that.” 

“  Were  all  the  angels  who  accompanied  him  of  the  same 
countenance  ?  ” 

“  Some  of  them  were  a  good  deal  alike,  others  not,  at 
least  from  my  point  of  view.  Some  had  wings  ;  others 
had  crowns.  In  their  company  were  St.  Catherine  and 
St.  Margaret,  who  were  with  the  angel  just  mentioned, 
and  the  other  angels  also,  even  in  the  king’s  chamber.” 

“  How  did  the  angel  leave  you  ?  ” 

“  He  left  me  in  a  little  chapel.  I  was  very  angry  at 
his  going.  I  wept.  Willingly  would  I  have  gone  away 
with  him — that  is  to  say,  my  soul.” 

“  After  the  angel’s  departure,  did  you  continue  joyful  ?  ” 

“  He  did  not  leave  me  fearful  or  frightened,  but  I  was 
angry  at  his  departure.” 

“  Was  it  on  account  of  your  merit  that  God  sent  to  you 
His  angel  ?  ” 

“  He  came  for  a  great  purpose,  and  I  was  in  hopes  that 
the  king  would  take  him  for  a  sign,  and  that  they  would 


1 82 


THE  TRIAL  OP  JEANNE  DARC. 


cease  arguing  about  my  carrying  succor  to  the  good  peo¬ 
ple  of  Orleans.  The  angel  came,  also,  for  the  merit  of 
the  king  and  of  the  good  Due  d’ Orleans.” 

“  Why  to  you  rather  than  another  ?  ” 

“  It  pleased  God  to  act  thus  by  means  of  a  simple 
maid  in  order  to  repel  the  enemies  of  the  king.” 

“  Has  he  told  you  whence  the  angel  brought  that 
crown  ?  ” 

“  It  was  brought  from  God,  and  there  is  no  goldsmith 
in  the  world  who  could  make  it  so  rich  or  so  beautiful.” 

“  Where  did  he  get  it  ?  ” 

“  I  attribute  it  to  God,  and  know  not  otherwise  wdience 
it  was  taken.” 

“Did  a  good  smell  come  from  the  crown?  Did  it 
shine  ?  ” 

“  I  do  not  remember ;  I  will  inform  myself.”  Resum¬ 
ing  after  a  pause  :  “  Yes,  it  smelled  well,  and  will  always, 
provided  it  is  wTell  taken  care  of,  as  it  should  be.  It  was 
in  the  style  of  a  crown.” 

“  Did  the  angel  write  you  a  letter  ?  ” 

“  No.” 

“  What  sign  had  your  king,  the  people  who  were  with 
him,  and  yourself,  to  make  you  think  it  was  an  angel  ?  ” 

“  The  king  believed  it  through  the  instruction  of  the 
churchmen  who  were  there,  and  by  the  sign  of  the 
crown.” 

“  But  how  did  the  clergy  themselves  know  that  it  was 
an  angel  ?” 

“  By  their  learning,  and  because  they  were  clergymen.” 

The  session  closed  soon  after,  and  she  was  conducted 
once  more  to  her  apartment.  The  learned  doctors 
questioned  her  closely,  and  even  skillfully,  during  these 
nine  secret  sessions,  and  she  often  answered  them  with 
vivacity  and  force.  They  asked  her  one  day  why  she  had 
thrown  herself  from  the  tower.  She  told  them  that  she 


/  THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC.  1 83 

had  heard  the  people  of  Compiegne  were  to  be  put  to  the 
sword,  even  to  children  seven  years  of  age,  and  that  she 
preferred  to  die  rather  than  to  survive  such  a  massacre 
of  good  people.  “  That,”  she  added,  “  was  one  of  the 
reasons.  The  other  was,  I  knew  I  had  been  sold  to  the 
English,  and  I  held  it  better  to  die  than  fall  into  the 
hands  of  my  adversaries.”  On  another  occasion  she 
declared  that  she  had  not  sprung  from  the  tower  in 
despair,  but  in  the  hope  of  escaping,  and  of  going  to  the 
succor  of  the  brave  men  who  were  in  peril.  She  owned, 
however,  that  it  was  a  rash  and  wrong  action,  of  which 
she  had  repented.  As  she  often  expressed  a  desire  to 
hear  mass,  they  asked  her  one  day  which  she  would  pre¬ 
fer,  to  put  on  a  woman's  dress  and  hear  mass,  or  retain 
her  man’s  clothes  and  not  hear  it.  Her  answer  was, 
“  First  assure  me  that  X  shall  hear  mass  if  I  put  on 
woman’s  clothes,  and  then  I  will  answer  you.” 

“  Very  well,”  said  the  questioner,  “  I  engage  that  you 
shall  hear  mass  if  you  will  put  on  a  woman’s  dress.” 

She  replied  that  she  would  wear  a  woman’s  dress  to 
mass,  but  that  on  her  return  she  should  resume  her  man’s 
clothes. 

They  asked  her  finally,  and  the  trial  turned  upon  this 
point,  if  she  was  willing  to  submit  all  her  words  and 
deeds  to  the  judgment  of  the  holy  mother  Church. 

“  The  Church !  ”  she  exclaimed.  “  I  love  it,  and  desire 
to  sustain  it  with  my  whole  power,  for  the  sake  of  our 
Christian  faith.  It  is  not  I  who  should  be  hindered  from 
going  to  church  and  hearing  mass.”  But  she  would  not 
answer  this  decisive  question  in  a  way  to  increase  her 
chances  of  escape.  As  to  what  she  had  done  for  her  king 
and  country,  she  said  she  submitted  it  all  to  God,  who 
had  sent  her,  and  then  she  wandered  into  a  prediction 
that  the  French  were  on  the  eve  of  a  great  victory.  The 
priest  repeated  liis  question,  but  she  only  replied  that  slio 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


I84 

submitted  all  to  God,  our  Lady,  and  the  saints.  “  And 
my  opinion  is,”  said  she,  “  that  God  and  the  Church  are 
one.”  The  questioner  then  explained  to  her  that  there 
was  a  Church  militant  and  a  Church  triumphant,  and 
that  it  was  to  the  Church  militant — consisting  of  the 
Pope,  cardinals,  bishops,  priests,  and  all  good  Catholics — 
to  which  her  submission  was  required. 

But  she  could  not  be  brought  to  submit  to  the  Church 
militant.  To  the  end  of  these  nine  incisive  questionings 
she  held  her  ground  firmly,  claiming  supernatural  war¬ 
rant  for  all  that  she  had  done  for  her  king  and  party, 
glorying  in  it,  protesting  her  warm  desire  to  renew  her 
labors  in  the  field,  and  refusing  to  resume  the  dress  of  her 
sex.  She  said  that  if  they  condemned  her  to  the  stake, 
she  would  wear  at  the  last  hour  a  long  woman’s  garment, 
but  till  then  she  should  retain  the  attire  assigned  her  by 
Divine  command.  She  refused,  a  few  days  after,  even  to 
change  her  dress  for  the  mass. 

Further  deliberation  followed,  and  at  length  the  charges 
against  her  were  drawn  up,  to  the  number  of  seventy, 
each  of  which  was  read  to  her  in  open  court,  and  her 
answer  required.  Many  weary  days  were  thus  consumed 
without  result.  When  the  last  charge  had  been  read  and 
answered,  she  was  asked  again  the  question  upon  which 
her  life  depended,  “If  the  Church  militant  says  to  you 
that  your  revelations  arc  illusory  or  diabolical,  will  you 
submit  to  the  decision  of  the  Church  ?  ”  Ilcr  answer  was 
the  same  as  before  :  “  I  submit  all  to  God,  whose  com¬ 
mand  I  shall  always  obey.” 

The  seventy  charges  were  then  condensed  to  twelve,  for 
the  convenience  of  the  court.  These  charges  were  chiefly 
drawn  from  her  own  avowals.  The  first  article,  for 
example,  accused  her  of  saying  that  she  had  been  visited 
and.  guided  by  St.  Michael,  St.  Catherine,  and  St.  Marga¬ 
ret.  Her  leap  from  the  tower,  as  related  by  herself,  was 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DAKC. 


I85 


one  of  the  charges,  her  inscribing  sacred  names  on  her 
banner  was  another.  The  charges,  in  short,  were  the 
condensed  statement  of  her  own  answers,  the  chief  point 
of  offence  being  that  she  claimed  for  her  mission  super¬ 
natural  authorization  and  aid.  The  outward  and  visible 
sign  of  this  pretension  was  the  wearing  of  men’s  clothes. 

The  patience  of  the  court  with  their  contumacious 
prisoner  was  remarkable,  and  seems  to  indicate  that  the 
court  as  a  body  meant  to  try  her  fairly,  and  that  there 
were  members  who  desired  her  acquittal.  Eight  learned 
doctors  were  next  appointed  to  visit  her  in  her  room,  and 
give  her  a  solemn  and  affectionate  admonition,  and  urge 
her,  by  timely  submission  and  repentance,  to  save  her 
body  from  the  fire  and  her  soul  from  perdition.  They 
performed  this  duty  well.  They  offered  to  send  her  other 
learned  men,  if  she  would  designate  them,  who  would 
visit  her,  instruct  her,  resolve  her  doubts,  and  guide  her 
into  the  true  way.  She  thanked  them  for  their  pains, 
adhered  to  all  her  pretensions,  and  refused  to  change  her 
dress.  “  Let  come  what  will,”  said  she,  “  I  shall  not  say 
or  do  otherwise.” 

After  days  of  further  deliberation,  they  caused  her  to 
be  conducted  to  a  chamber  of  the  great  tower,  in  which 
were  the  apparatus  of  the  torture,  and  the  men  in  official 
costume  who  usually  applied  it.  “Truly,”  said  she,  as 
she  looked  upon  the  hideous  implements,  “  if  you  tear  me 
limb  from  limb,  and  separate  soul  from  body,  I  should 
say  nothing  other  than  I  have  said ;  and  even  if  I  should, 
I  should  forever  maintain  that  you  made  me  say  it  by 
force.”  And  she  went  on  to  speak  of  her  voices  in  her 
usual  manner.  The  court  decided  that,  considering  “the 
hardness  of  her  heart,”  the  punishment  of  the  torture 
would  profit  her  little,  and  that  therefore  it  might  be  dis¬ 
pensed  with,  at  least  for  the  present.  One  learned  and 
pious  doctor  thought  that  the  torture  would  be  a  “  salu- 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


1 86 

tary  medicine  for  her  soul,”  but  the  general  opinion  was 
that  she  had  already  confessed  enough.  As  a  Catholic 
she  had  indeed  put  herself  fatally  in  the  wrong,  and  given 
her  enemies  all  the  pretext  for  her  condemnation  which 
the  age  required. 

More  deliberations  followed.  The  University  of  Paris 
was  formally  consulted,  and  would  give  but  one  answer  : 
either  the  events  related  by  the  prisoner  occurred,  or  they 
did  not  occur ;  if  they  did  not  occur,  she  is  a  contuma¬ 
cious  liar ;  if  they  did  occur,  she  is  a  sorceress  and  a 
servant  of  the  devil.  She  must  therefore  confess,  recant, 
renounce,  submit,  or  suffer  a  penalty  proportioned  to  her 
crimes.  This  decision  was  also  communicated  to  the  Maid 
with  the  utmost  solemnity,  and  she  was  again  exhorted  and 
entreated  to  submit.  The  address  delivered  to  her  on  this 
occasion  was  eloquent  and  pathetic,  and  the  argument 
presented  was  one  which  should  have  convinced  a  Catholic. 
The  orator,  however,  expended  his  main  strength  in  ten¬ 
der  entreaty,  begging  her,  for  her  immortal’s  soul’s  sake, 
not  to  persist  in  setting  her  own  uninstructed  judgment 
against  that  of  the  University  of  Paris,  and  so  great  a 
body  of  eminent  clergy.  It  was  of  no  avail.  “  If,”  said 
she,  “  I  was  already  condemned,  if  I  saw  the  brand  lighted, 
the  fagots  ready,  and  tlie  executioner  about  to  kindle  the 
fire,  and  if  I  was  actually  in  the  flames,  I  should  say  only 
what  I  have  said,  and  maintain  all  that  I  have  said,  till 
death. 

She  was  to  have  one  more  opportunity  to  escape  the 
fire.  On  Thursday  morning,  May  24th,  the  scene  of  the 
trial  was  changed  from  a  room  in  Rouen  castle  to  the 
public  cemetery  of  the  city.  A  spacious  platform  was 
erected  for  the  prisoner.  The  “  Cardinal  of  England  ” 
attended,  and  there  was  a  vast  concourse  of  excited 
people,  now  admitted  for  the  first  time  to  witness  the 
proceedings.  The  Maid  was  conveyed  to  the  spot  in  a 


THE  TRIAL  OP  JEANNE  DARC. 


I87 


cart,  and  placed  upon  the  stand  prepared  for  her,  the  cart 
remaining  to  take  her  to  the  castle  or  to  the  stake,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  issue  of  this  day’s  session.  When  all  were  in 
their  places,  a  preacher  of  great  renown  rose,  and,  taking 
his  place  opposite  to  the  prisoner,  preached  a  sermon  upon 
the  text,  “  A  branch  can  not  bear  fruit  of  itself  except  it 
abide  in  the  vine,”  which  he  concluded  by  a  last  solemn 
exhortation  to  the  prisoner  to  yield  submission  to  the 
Church. 

She  was  not  shaken.  In  her  first  reply,  however,  she 
tried  a  new  expedient,  saying,  “  Send  to  Rome,  to  our  holy 
father  the  Pope,  to  whom,  after  God,  I  yield  submission.” 
Three  times  she  was  asked  if  she  was  willing  to  renounce 
those  of  her  acts  and  words  which  the  court  condemned. 
Her  last  reply  was,  “  I  appeal  to  God  and  our  holy  father 
the  Pope.” 

The  presiding  bishop  then  began  the  reading  of  her 
sentence.  The  reading  had  proceeded  two  or  three 
minutes,  when  suddenly  her  courage  failed  her,  and  she 
yielded.  She  interrupted  the  reading.  “  I  am  willing,” 
she  cried,  “  to  hold  all  that  the  Church  ordains,  all  that 
you  judges  shall  say  and  pronounce.  I  will  obey  your 
orders  in  everything.”  Then  she  repeated  several  times : 
“  Since  the  men  of  the  church  decide  that  my  apparitions 
and  revelations  arc  neither  sustainable  nor  credible,  I 
do  not  wish  to  believe  nor  sustain  them.  I  yield  in  every' 
thing  to  you  and  to  our  holy  mother  Church.” 

This  submission  had  been  provided  for  by  the  manager 
of  the  trial.  He  at  once  produced  a  formal  recantation 
and  abjuration,  which  she  was  required  to  sign.  1  can 
neither  read  nor  write,”  she  said.  The  king’s  secretary 
placed  the  document  before  her,  put  a  pen  in  her  hand, 
and  guided  it  while  she  wrote  “  Jchannc,”  and  appended 
the  sign  of  the  cross. 

The  bishop  then  produced  another  sentence  which  had 


iSS 


TIIE  TRIAL  OP  JEANNE  DARC. 


been  prepared  beforehand  in  view  of  her  possible  abjura¬ 
tion.  This  document,  after  recounting  her  errors  and  her 
submission,  relieved  her  from  excommunication,  and 
urged  her  to  a  true  repentance ;  but  it  ended  with  a  few 
words  of  crushing  import  to  such  a  spirit :  “  Since  you 
have  rashly  sinned  against  God  and  holy  Church,  finally, 
definitively,  we  condemn  you  to  perpetual  imprisonment, 
with  the  bread  of  grief  and  the  water  of  anguish,  to  the 
end  that  you  may  mourn  your  faults  and  commit  no 
more.”  Then  she  was  conveyed  to  the  castle.  That 
afternoon,  in  the  presence  of  six  or  seven  ecclesiastics, 
after  exhortation,  she  took  off  her  man’s  dress  with 
apparent  willingness,  and  put  on  that  of  a  woman.  She 
also  allowed  some  locks  of  hair,  which  she  had  worn 
hitherto  in  the  fashion  of  men,  to  be  cut  off  and  taken 
away. 

And  thus,  on  that  Thursday  afternoon,  May  24th,  exactly 
one  year  after  her  capture,  in  the  sixth  month  of  her 
confinement  in  the  castle,  and  fourth  of  her  public  trial, 
she  found  herself  still  in  prison,  chained  as  before, 
guarded  as  before  by  men,  and  deprived  of  the  one  solace 
that  captives  know — hope.  She  had  saved  her  life,  but 
not  regained  her  darling  liberty.  She  was  not  in  the 
field.  She  was  a  captive,  shorn,  despoiled,  degraded, 
hopeless,  lacerated  by  fetters,  and  weighed  down  by  heavy 
chains,  with  men  always  in  her  cell,  and  liable  every  hour 
to  the  taunts  of  hostile  and  contemptuous  visitors. 

She  bore  it  Friday,  Saturday,  Sunday.  When  she  rose 
on  Monday  morning,  she  put  on  her  man’s  dress.  The 
bishop  and  several  other  members  of  the  court  arrived 
but  too  soon  ;  for  this  was  welcome  news  to  the  English 
party.  They  asked  her  why  she  had  resumed  that  dress. 
“  Because,”  said  she,  “  being  with  men,  it  is  mors  decent. 
1  have  resumed  it,  too,  because  you  have  not  kept  your 
promises  that  I  should  hear  mass,  and  receive  my  Saviour, 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 


189 


and  have  my  irons  taken  off.  I  prefer  to  die  than  be  in 
irons.  Let  me  go  to  mass,  take  off  my  chains,  put  me 
in  a  proper  prison,  let  me  have  a  woman  for  companion, 
and  then  I  will  be  good,  and  do  what  the  Church  desires.” 
They  asked  her  if  her  voices  had  revisited  her,  if  she 
still  believed  that  they  were  St.  Catherine  and  St.  Mar¬ 
garet,  if  she  adhered  to  what  she  had  said  with  regard  to 
the  crown  given  to  her  king  by  St.  Michael.  To  all  such 
questions  she  replied  bluntly  in  the  affirmative,  as  if  court¬ 
ing  death.  “  All  that  I  revoked  and  declared  on  the 
scaffold,”  said  she,  “  I  did  through  fear  of  the  fire.  I 
prefer  to  die  than  endure  longer  the  pain  of  imprison¬ 
ment.  Never  have  I  done  anything  against  God  or  the 
faith.  I  did  not  understand  what  was  in  the  act  of 
abjuration.  If  the  judges  desire  it,  I  will  wear  woman’s 
dress  ;  beyond  that  I  will  yield  nothing.” 

To  reassemble  the  court,  and  bring  this  erring,  tor¬ 
tured,  devoted  child  to  the  stake,  required  but  two  days. 
On  Wednesday  morning,  May  30, 1431,  there  was  another 
open-air  session  of  the  court,  in  a  market-place  of  Rouen, 
where  there  was  erected  a  platform  of  another  kind  for  the 
prisoner.  On  that  last  morning  of  her  life  her  demeanor 
was  not  stoical  nor  histrionic,  but  simply  human — the 
demeanor  of  a  terrified  girl  of  nineteen  who  was  nerving 
herself  to  a  frightful  ordeal  which  she  herself  had  chosen. 

She  bewailed  her  fate  with  cries  and  sobs.  They  gave 
her  a  priest  to  hear  her  in  confession,  after  which  the 
sacrament  was  brought  to  her  by  the  usual  procession  of 
priests  chanting  a  litany,  and  bearing  many  candles.  She 
received  it  “  very  devoutly,  and  with  a  great  abundance 
of  tears,”  and  passed  her  remaining  time  in  prayer.  The 
same  cart  conveyed  her  to  the  market-place,  guarded  by 
“  a  hundred  and  twenty  ”  English  men-at-arms.  Another 
sermon  was  preached,  upon  the  text,  “  If  one  member 
suffer,  the  other  members  suffer  also.”  The  bishop  then 


190  THE  TRIAL  OF  JEANNE  DARC. 

read  a  long  sentence,  of  -which  a  few  words  are  given  at 
the  beginning  of  this  article,  which  he  ended  by  handing 
her  over  to  the  secular  arm.  The  members  of  the  court 
departed,  and  then,  without  any  other  legal  formality,  she 
was  bound  to  the  stake  and  burned.  Tradition  gives  us 
many  particulars  of  her  last  moments,  but  as  they  were 
not  gathered  till  1456,  twenty-five  years  after  her  ashes 
were  thrown  into  the  Seine,  we  must  receive  them  with 
caution.  It  is  credible  enough  that  she  died  embracing  a 
cross,  and  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  another  cross  held  up 
before  her  by  a  sympathizing  priest.  In  1456,  the  period 
of  her  “  rehabilitation,”  that  man  was  accounted  happy 
who  had  something  pleasing  or  glorious  to  tell  of  the 
Maid  whom  France  then  revered  as  a  deliverer. 

It  is  difficult  for  us  to  conceive  the  importance  attached 
to  this  trial  at  the  time.  The  English  government,  by  a 
long  circular  letter,  notified  all  the  sovereigns  of  Europe 
of  the  result  of  the  trial,  and  gave  them  an  outline  of 
the  proceedings.  The  University  at  Paris  sent  a  par¬ 
ticular  account  of  the  trial  to  the  Pope,  to  the  cardinals, 
and  to  the  chief  prelates  of  Christendom.  But  five  years 
later  Paris  surrendered  to  the  King  of  France,  and 
twenty-five  years  later  Normandy  itself  owned  allegiance 
to  Charles  YU. 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


IIARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


••  "I  I" OW  I  detest  benevolent  people!”  Sydney  Smith 
I  I  is  reported  to  have  said,  on  looking  up  from  a 
book  he  had  been  reading. 

“  Why  ?  ”  asked  his  daughter. 

“Because  they  are  so  cruel,”  was  his  reply. 

I  was  reminded  of  this  anecdote  upon  looking  over  a 
book  lately  published,  entitled  “Harriet  Martineau’s  Auto¬ 
biography,”  which  is  full  of  the  personal  gossip  that  amuses 
readers,  but  gives  extreme  pain  to  large  numbers  of  worthy 
persons  who  cannot  possibly  set  themselves  right  with  the 
public  by  correcting  the  misconceptions  of  a  writer  no 
longer  among  the  living.  Miss  Martineau  was,  doubt¬ 
less,  a  lady  who  strongly  desired  the  happiness  of  man¬ 
kind,  and  who  had  some  correct  ideas  of  the  manner 
in  which  human  happiness  is  to  be  promoted.  She  ren¬ 
dered  much  good  service  in  her  day  and  generation,  but 
she  left  this  book  to  be  published  after  her  death,  which 
is  unjust  to  almost  every  individual  named  in  it,  and, 
most  of  all,  unjust  to  herself. 

And  the  worst  of  it  is,  no  effective  answer  can  be  made 
to  it.  The  gifted  family  of  the  Kembles,  for  example,  and 
particularly  Mrs.  Kemble,  a  lady  still  living,  with  children 
and  other  relations,  are  held  up  to  the  contempt  of  mam 
kind  as  vain,  vulgar,  and  false.  Perhaps  the  Kembles 
thought  Miss  Martineau  vain,  vulgar,  and  false ;  but 
they  have  not  had  the  indecency  to  tell  the  public  so. 
Macaulay,  Miss  Martineau  tells  us,  had  “no  heart,”  and 

!93 


194 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


Ins  nephew,  Trevelyan,  “  no  head.”  Lord  Althorp  was 
“  one  of  nature’s  graziers ;  ”  Lord  Brougham  was  a  creat¬ 
ure  obscene  and  treacherous ;  Earl  Russell  and  the  whole 
Whig  party  were  a  set  of  conceited  incapablcs ;  Thack¬ 
eray,  the  satirist  of  snobs,  was  himself  a  snob;  N.  P. 
Willis,  a  lying  dandy;  Eastlake  an  artist  of  “limited” 
understanding ;  and  so  she  deals  out  her  terrible  gossip, 
which  might  have  been  harmless  enough  spoken  at  a  tea- 
table  to  a  confidential  friend,  but  was  not  proper  to  be 
printed  during  the  lifetime  of  the  individuals  named,  nor 
during  the  lifetime  of  their  immediate  descendants. 

Things  go  by  contraries  in  this  world.  We  often  find 
high  Tories  who,  in  their  practical  dealings  with  their 
fellow-men,  are  perfectly  democratic ;  and  it  is  well  known 
that  some  of  the  most  positive  democrats  this  country  has 
ever  produced  have  been,  in  their  personal  demeanor, 
haughty  and  inhuman.  It  is  much  the  same  with  philan¬ 
thropists  and  misanthropists.  A  person  may  snarl  at 
mankind  in  a  book  and  be  the  soul  of  kindness  in  his 
own  circle,  and  he  may  deluge  the  world  with  benevolent 
“gush,”  without  having  learned  to  be  agreeable  or  good- 
tempered  in  his  own  home. 

Miss  Martineau,  however,  has  been  to  no  one  so  unjust 
as  to  herself;  for  she  lias  not  had  the  art  to  make  her 
readers  feel  and  realize  the  disadvantages  under  which 
she  labored.  She  was  deaf ;  she  had  no  sense  of  smell, 
and  only  a  very  imperfect  sense  of  taste.  She  could  hear, 
it  is  true,  by  the  aid  of  a  trumpet,  but  she  was  cut  off 
from  all  that  higher,  easier,  constant  intercourse  with  her 
kind  which  people  enjoy  who  rarely  know  what  silence  is, 
and  who  hear  human  speech  of  some  kind  at  almost  every 
moment  when  they  are  awake.  And  she  had  a  childhood 
which  disarms  censure.  During  the  first  thirty  years  of 
her  life,  she  scarcely  enjoyed  one  day  of  health  or  peace, 
all  in  conseouence  of  her  mother’s  neglect.  The  child, 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


195 


booh  after  it  was  born,  was  sent  out  of  the  way  to  a  wet- 
nurse  in  the  country,  who  nearly  starved  her  to  death, 
having  an  insufficiency  of  milk,  and  being  unwilling  to 
lose  the  charge  of  the  child  by  telling  the  truth.  Her 
deafness  and  her  bad  health  during  the  first  third  of  her 
life  were  always  ascribed  by  her  mother  to  this  starva¬ 
tion. 

The  story  of  her  childhood  is  almost  incomprehensible 
to  American  parents,  who  are  apt  to  watch  their  children 
with  even  an  excessive  care  and  tenderness.  Her  parents 
seemed  never  to  have  suspected  what  she  suffered,  nor 
did  she  ever  have  confidence  enough  in  them  to  attempt 
to  make  known  to  them  her  miseries.  Milk,  for  example, 
always  disagreed  with  her,  and  to  such  a  degree  that  she 
had  “a  horrid  lump  at  her  throat  for  hours  every  morn¬ 
ing,  and  the  most  terrible  oppression  in  the  night.” 
Nevertheless,  as  English  children  are  always  fed  upon 
milk,  she  continued  to  drink  it  morning  and  night,  with¬ 
out  mentioning  her  sufferings,  until  she  was  old  enough 
to  drink  tea,  which,  in  England,  is  usually  about  the  six¬ 
teenth  year.  How  amazing  is  this !  On  what  strange 
terms  children  must  live  with  their  elders  where  such  a 
thing  could  be! 

During  all  her  childhood  she  was  tormented  by  fear 
and  shame.  She  was  afraid  of  everything  and  everybody. 
Sometimes,  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  she  would  be  panic- 
stricken,  and  feel  sure  she  could  never  get  down.  In 
going  a  few  steps  into  the  garden  she  would  be  afraid  to 
look  behind  her,  dreading  an  imaginary  wild  beast.  She 
was  afraid  of  the  star-lighted  sky,  having  an  awful  dread 
of  its  coining  down  upon  her,  crushing  her,  and  remaining 
upon  her  head.  She  was  afraid  of  persons,  and  declares 
that,  to  the  best  of  her  belief,  she  never  met  with  an 
individual  whom  she  was  not  afraid  of  until  she  was  six¬ 
teen  years  of  age.  The  exhibition  of  a  magic  lantern  was 


iq6 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


awful  to  her,  and  she  was  terrified  beyond  measure  by 
seeing  the  prismatic  colors  in  the  glass  drops  of  a  chande¬ 
lier.  There  were  certain  individuals  whom  she  met 
occasionally  in  the  town,  of  whom  she  knew  nothing, 
neither  their  name  nor  their  occupation,  and  yet  she  could 
never  see  them  without  experiencing  the  most  intense 
fear.  At  the  same  time  she  was  bitterly  ashamed  of  this 
weakness,  and  seems  never  to  have  thought  of  mentioning 
it  to  a  living  creature,  least  of  all  to  her  mother  and 
sisters.  Fur  a  long  course  of  years — from  about  eight  to 
fourteen — she  tried  with  all  her  might  to  pass  a  day 
without  crying. 

“  I  was  a  persevering  child,”  she  says,  “  and  I  knew  I 
tried  hard ;  but  I  failed.  I  gave  up  at  last,  and  during 
all  those  }'cars  I  never  did  pass  a  day  without  crying.” 

She  thinks  her  temper  must  have  been  “  excessively 
bad,”  and  that  she  was  “  an  insufferable  child  for  gloom, 
obstinacy,  and  crossness.”  But  she  also  thought  that  if 
her  parents  and  brothers  and  sisters  had  shown  ever  so 
little  sympathy  with  her  unhappiness,  she  should  have 
responded  with  joyous  alacrity.  When  her  hearing  began 
to  grow  dull,  it  did  not  excite  sympathy  in  the  family, 
but  distrust  and  contempt.  She  would  be  told  that  'l  none 
arc  so  deaf  as  they  who  do  not  wish  to  hear ;  ”  and  when 
it  could  no  longer  be  doubted  that  she  was  growing  deaf, 
the  best  help  she  got  was  from  her  brother,  who  told  her 
that  he  hoped  she  would  never  make  herself  troublesome 
to  other  people.  What  a  delightful  family  !  Such  treat¬ 
ment,  however,  had  one  good  effect :  she  made  up  her 
mind,  and  she  kept  her  resolution,  never  to  make  her 
deafness  a  burthen  to  others.  She  never  asked  any  one 
to  repeat  a  remark  in  company  which  she  had  not  caught, 
and  always  trusted  her  friends  to  tell  her  wiiat  it  was 
necessary  for  her  to  know. 

During  the  generation  which  saw  the  beginning  and 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


197 


the  end  of  Napoleon’s  career,  a  kind  of  savageness  seems 
to  have  pervaded  human  life.  All  Europe  was  fighting ; 
school-boys  were  encouraged  and  expected  to  fight,  and 
the  softer  feelings  of  our  nature  were  undervalued  or 
despised.  Bonaparte  made  life  harder  for  almost  every 
one  in  the  civilized  world  ;  and  this  may  partly  explain 
how  an  intelligent,  virtuous,  and  even  benevolent  family 
could  have  lived  together  in  a  manner  which  seems  to  us 
heartless  and  savage. 

Her  parents  gave  her  an  excellent  education.  She 
could  make  shirts  and  puddings ;  she  could  iron  and 
mend ;  she  acquired  all  household  arts,  as  girls  did  in 
those  days  ;  but  at  the  same  time  she  became  a  considera¬ 
ble  proficient  in  languages  and  science,  and  very  early 
began  to  show  an  inclination  to  composition.  The  circum¬ 
stance  which  made  her  a  professional  writer  was  interest¬ 
ing.  She  had  secretly  sent  an  article  to  a  monthly 
magazine,  and  a  few  days  after,  as  she  was  sitting  after 
tea  in  her  brother’s  parlor,  he  said : 

“  Come  now,  we  have  had  plenty  of  talk ;  I  will  read 
you  something.” 

He  took  the  very  magazine  that  contained  her  contri¬ 
bution,  and  opening  it  at  her  article  lie  glanced  at  it, 
and  said : 

“  They  have  got  a  new  hand  here.  Listen.” 

He  read  a  few  lines,  and  then  exclaimed  : 

“  Ah  !  This  is  a  new  hand  ;  they  have  had  nothing  as 
good  as  this  for  a  long  while.” 

He  kept  bursting  out  with  exclamations  of  approval  as 
he  continued  to  read,  until,  at  length,  observing  her 
silence,  he  said : 

“  Harriet,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  I  never  knew 
you  so  slow  to  praise  anything  before.” 

She  replied  in  utter  confusion  : 

“  I  never  could  baffle  anybody.  The  truth  is,  that 
paper  is  mine.” 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


ig8 

Her  brother  said  nothing,  but  finished  the  article  in 
silence,  and  spoke  no  more  until  she  rose  to  go  home. 
Then  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  said,  in  a 
serious  tone : 

“  Now,  dear  ”  (he  had  never  called  her  dear  before), 
“  now,  dear,  leave  it  to  other  women  to  make  shirts  and 
darn  stockings,  and  dc  you  devote  yourself  to  this.” 

And  so  she  did.  With  immense  perseverance,  and 
after  encountering  every  sort  of  discouragement,  she 
reached  the  public  ear,  by  writing  stories  in  illustration 
of  the  truths  of  political  economy.  For  a  time  she  was 
the  most  popular  story-writer  in  England,  and  the  aid  of 
her  pen  was  sought  by  cabinet  ministers,  as  well  as  by 
the  conductors  of  almost  every  important  periodical.  She 
was  so  good  and  useful  a  woman,  that  we  must  forgive 
whatever  mistakes  of  judgment  and  temper  we  may  lament 
in  her  autobiography.  She  loved  America  almost  as 
though  she  had  been  born  upon  its  soil,  and  Americans 
must  take  her  censures  in  good  part. 

During  her  residence  in  the  United  States,  she  sacrificed 
her  popularity,  and  even  risked  her  personal  safety,  by 
openly  espousing  the  cause  of  the  detested  abolitionists. 
At  one  of  their  meetings  in  Boston,  in  1835,  to  attend 
which  she  braved  the  fury  of  a  mob,  she  deliberately,  and 
with  full  knowledge  of  what  her  action  involved,  spoke 
in  defence  of  their  principles.  Her  own  narrative  of  the 
event,  as  given  in  her  Autobiography,  is  of  singular 
interest : 

“  In  the  midst  of  the  proceedings  of  the  meeting,  a 
note  was  handed  to  me  written  in  pencil  on  the  back  of 
the  hymn  which  the  party  were  singing.  It  was  from 
Mr.  Loring,  and  these  were  his  words : 

“  •  Knowing  your  opinions,  I  just  ask  you  whether  you 
would  object  to  give  a  word  of  sympathy  to  those  who 
are  suffering  here  for  what  you  have  advocated  elsewhere. 
It  would  afford  great  comfort.’ 


HAKHIbT  MAKTi.N EiY'J. 


I99 


“  The  moment  of  reading  this  note  was  one  of  the 
most  painful  of  my  life.  I  felt  that  I  could  never  bo 
happy  again  if  I  refused  what  was  asked  of  me ;  but  to 
comply  was  probably  to  shut  against  me  every  door  in 
the  United  States  but  those  of  the  Abolitionists.  I 
should  no  more  sec  persons  and  things  as  they  ordinarily 
were.  I  should  have  no  more  comfort  or  pleasure  in  my 
travels ;  and  my  very  life  would  be,  like  other  people’s, 
endangered  by  an  avowal  of  the  kind  desired.  George 
Thompson  was  then  on  the  sea,  having  narrowly  escaped 
witli  his  life,  and  the  fury  against  ‘foreign  incendiaries’ 
ran  high.  Houses  had  been  sacked;  children  had  been 
carried  through  the  snow  from  their  beds  at  midnight; 
travelers  had  been  lynched  in  the  market-places,  as  well 
as  in  the  woods ;  and  there  was  no  safety  for  any  one, 
native  or  foreign,  who  did  what  I  was  now  compelled  to 
do.  Having  made  up  my  mind,  I  was  considering  how 
the  word  of  sympathy  should  be  given,  when  Mrs.  Loring 
came  up,  with  an  easy  and  smiling  countenance,  and  said  : 

“  ‘  You  have  had  my  husband’s  note.  He  hopes  you 
Avill  do  as  he  says ;  but  you  must  please  yourself,  of 
course.’ 

“  I  said,  ‘  No  ;  it  is  a  case  in  which  there  is  no  choice.’ 

“  ‘  Oh,  pray  do  not  do  it  unless  you  like  it.  You  must 
do  as  you  think  right.’ 

“ '  Yes,’  said  I,  ‘  I  must.’ 

“  At  first,  out  of  pure  shyness,  I  requested  the  president 
to  say  a  few  words  forme;  but,  presently,  remembering 
the  importance  of  the  occasion  and  the  difficulty  of  set¬ 
ting  right  any  mistake  the  president  might  fall  into,  I 
agreed  to  that  lady’s  request,  that  I  should  speak  for 
myself.  Having  risen,  therefore,  with  his  note  in  my 
hand,  and  being  introduced  to  the  meeting,  I  said,  as  was 
precisely  recorded  at  the  time,  what  follows : 

“  ‘  I  have  been  requested  by  a  friend  present  to  say 
eomething — if  only  a  word — to  express  my  sympathy  in 


200 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


the  objects  of  this  meeting.  I  had  supposed  that  my 
presence  here  would  be  understood  as  showing  my  sym¬ 
pathy  with  you.  But  as  I  am  requested  to  speak,  I  will 
say  what  I  have  said  through  the  whole  South,  in  every 
family  where  I  have  been ;  that  I  consider  slavery  as 
inconsistent  with  the  law  of  God  and  as  incompatible 
with  the  law  of  his  Providence.  I  should  certainly  say 
no  less  at  the  North  than  at  the  South  concerning  this 
utter  abomination,  and  I  now  declare  that  in  your  princi¬ 
ples  I  fully  agree.’  ” 

“  As  I  concluded,  Mrs.  Chapman  bowed  down  her  glow¬ 
ing  head  on  her  folded  arms,  and  there  was  a  murmur  of 
satisfaction  through  the  room,  while,  outside,  the  growing 
crowd  (which  did  not,  however,  become  large)  was  hoot¬ 
ing  and  yelling,  and  throwing  mud  and  dust  against  the 
windows.” 

It  was  bravely  done.  Happily,  the  present  generation 
can  form  but  an  imperfect  idea  of  the  sacrifice  she  made 
in  taking  sides  with  a  party  then  held  in  equal  abhorrence 
and  contempt.  Several  days  passed  before  this  action  of 
Miss  Martineau  was  known  to  the  public.  Gradually, 
however,  it  circulated,  and,  at  length,  the  little  speech 
itself  was  printed  verbatim  in  a  report  of  the  Anti- 
Slavery  Society.  Precisely  that  happened  which  Miss 
Martineau  had  anticipated.  Every  door  was  closed 
against  her,  except  those  of  the  Abolitionists.  No  more 
invitations  littered  her  table.  She  was  a  lion  no  longer. 
Houses  where  she  was  known  to  be  staying  were  avoided, 
as  though  they  had  shown  to  the  passer-by  the  warning 
signal  of  contagion.  The  Boston  Advertiser  opened  upon 
her  its  provincial  thunder,  and  Boston  society  shuddered 
at  the  awful  fate  which  the  brave  woman  had  brought 
upon  herself.  The  press  in  general  denounced  her,  and 
even  some  of  the  Abolitionists  felt  that,  being  a  stranger, 
she  need  not  have  incurred  this  obloquy. 

Miss  Martineau’s  tranquility  was  not  for  a  moment 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


201 


disturbed,  and  she  was  glad  that,  in  so  critical  a  moment, 
she  had  been  able  to  preserve  her  self-respect. 

During  the  greater  part  of  her  mature  life  she  felt  her¬ 
self  compelled  to  embrace  the  unpopular  side  of  most  of 
the  questions  which  deeply  stirred  the  human  mind.  For 
some  years  she  retained  the  faith  of  her  parents,  which 
was  the  Unitarian  ;  but,  as  her  intelligence  matured,  she 
found  the  beliefs  and  usages  of  that  sect  less  and  less 
satisfactory,  until  she  reached  the  settled  conviction  that 
all  the  creeds  and  religions  of  the  earth  were  of  purely 
human  origin.  She  rejected  the  idea  of  a  personal  deity, 
and  regarded  the  belief  in  immortality  as  an  injurious 
delusion.  It  is  a  proof,  at  once,  of  the  profound  excel¬ 
lence  of  her  character  and  the  advanced  catholicity  of 
her  generation,  that  these  opinions,  which  she  never  con¬ 
cealed  and  never  obtruded,  estranged  none  of  her  friends, 
even  those  of  the  most  pronounced  orthodoxy.  Miss 
Florence  Nightingale,  for  example,  a  devoted  member  of 
the  Church  of  England,  wrote,  on  hearing  of  her  death  : 

“The  shock  of  your  tidings  to  me,  of  course,  was 
great ;  but,  0, 1  feel  how  delightful  the  surprise  to  her ! 
How  much  she  must  know  now !  How  much  she  must 
have  enjoyed  already  !  I  do  not  know  what  your  opinions 
are  about  this ;  I  know  what  hers  were,  and  for  a  long 
time,  I  have  thought  how  great  will  be  the  surprise  to  her 
— a  glorious  surprise!  She  served  the  Right,  that  is, 
God,  all  her  life.” 

In  a  similar  strain  wrote  other  friends,  who  were 
believers  in  immortal  life.  Miss  Martineau  died  at  her 
own  house  at  Amblcside,  in  1876,  aged  seventy-four  years. 
She  expressed  the  secret  of  her  life  in  a  sentence  of  her 
Autobiography. 

“  The  real  and  justifiable  and  honorable  subject  of 
interest  to  human  beings,  living  and  dying,  is  the 
welfare  OF  their  fellows,  surrounding  or  surviving 
them  ” 


202 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


For  twenty  years  after  she  had  written  her  autobiography 
in  momentary  expectation  of  death,  she  continued  to  live 
and  work  for  the  welfare  of  her  fellows.  In  her  own  words, 
“Literature,  though  a  precious  luxury,  was  not,  and  never 
had  been,  the  daily  bread  of  her  life.  She  felt  that  she 
could  not  be  happy,  or  in  the  best  way  useful,  if  the  declin¬ 
ing  years  of  her  life  were  spent  in  lodgings  in  the  morning 
and  drawing-rooms  in  the  evening.  A  quiet  home  of  her 
own,  and  some  few  dependent  on  her  for  their  domestic 
welfare,  she  believed  to  be  essential  to  every  true  woman’s 
peace  of  mind  ;  and  she  chose  her  plan  of  life  accordingly.” 
She  lived  in  the  country,  built  a  house,  and  tried  her  hand 
successfully  on  a  farm  of  two  acres.  She  exerted  herself 
for  the  good  of  her  neighbors,  and  devised  schemes  to 
remedy  local  mischiefs.  Her  servants  found  in  her  a  friend 
as  well  as  a  mistress. 

Her  long  and  busy  life  bears  the  constant  impress  of  two 
leading  characteristics — industry  and  sincerity.  In  the 
brief  autobiographical  sketch,  left  to  be  published  in  the 
London  Daily  News ,  to  which  she  had  contributed  alto¬ 
gether  sixteen  hundred  important  articles,  she  gives  this 
curiously  candid  judgment  of  herself,  which  is  more  correct 
than  many  of  her  judgments  of  others:  “Her  original 
power  was  nothing  more  than  was  due  to  earnestness  and 
intellectual  clearness  within  a  certain  range.  With  small 
imaginative  and  suggestive  powers,  and  therefore  nothing 
approaching  to  genius,  she  could  see  clearly  what  she  did 
see,  and  give  a  clear  expression  to  what  she  had  to  say.  In 
short,  she  could  popularize  while  she  could  neither  discover 
nor  invent.” 

Her  infirmity  of  deafness  probably  enabled  her  to  accom¬ 
plish  the  immense  amount  of  literary  work  which  she  did, 
since  it  withdrew  her  from  many  distractions.  The  cheerful 
and  unobtrusive  spirit  with  which  she  bore  her  infirmity 
remains  an  example  and  encouragement  to  her  fellow- 
sufferers. 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


203 


Her  years  of  lingering  illness  proved  a  time  of  quiet 
enjoyment  to  her,  being  soothed  by  family  and  social  love 
and  care  and  sympathy.  In  the  words  of  her  biographer, 
Mrs.  M.  W.  Chapman,  a  woman  of  kindred  spirit: 

“  If,  instead  of  dying  so  slowly,  she  had  died  as  she 
could  have  wished  and  thought  to  have  done,  without  delay, 
what  a  treasure  of  wise  counsels,  what  a  radiance  of  noble 
deeds,  what  a  spirit  of  love  and  of  power,  what  brave  vic¬ 
torious  battle  to  the  latest  hour  for  all  things  good  and 
true,  had  been  lost  to  posterity  !  What  an  example  of 
more  than  resignation,  of  that  ready,  glad  acceptance  of  a 
lingering  and  painful  death  which  made  the  sight  a  bless¬ 
ing  to  every  witness,  had  beeu  lost  to  the  surviving  genera¬ 
tion” 


THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


ITEY  have  in  Europe  a  mysterious  thing  called  rank, 


I  which  exerts  a  powerful  spell  even  over  the  minds 
of  republicans,  who  neither  approve  nor  understand  it. 

We  saw  a  proof  of  its  power  when  the  Prince  of  Wales 
visited  New  York  some  years  ago.  He  was  neither  hand¬ 
some,  nor  gifted,  nor  wise,  nor  learned,  nor  anything  elec 
which,  according  to  the  imperfect  light  of  reason,  makes 
a  fair  claim  to  distinction.  But  how  we  crowded  to  catch 
a  sight  of  him !  In  all  my  varied  and  long  experience  of 
New  York  crowds  and  receptions,  I  never  saw  a  popular 
movement  that  went  down  quite  as  deep  as  that.  I  saw 
aged  ladies  sitting  in  chairs  upon  the  sidewalk  hour  after 
hour,  waiting  to  see  that  youth  go  by — ladies  whom  no 
other  pageant  would  have  drawn  from  their  homes. 
Almost  every  creature  that  could  walk  was  out  to  see  him. 

Mr.  Gladstone  is  fifty  times  the  man  the  Prince  of 
W'ales  can  ever  be.  Mr.  Tennyson,  Mr.  Bright,  George 
Eliot,  Mr.  Darwin,  might  be  supposed  to  represent  Eng¬ 
land  better  than  he.  But  all  of  these  eminent  persons  in 
a  coach  together  would  not  have  called  forth  a  tenth  part 
of  the  crowd  that  cheered  the  Prince  of  Wales  from  the 
Battery  to  Madison  Square.  There  is  a  mystery  in  this 
which  everyone  may  explain  according  to  his  ability; 
hut  th efact  is  so  important  that  no  one  can  understand 
history  who  does  not  bear  it  in  mind. 

The  importance  of  Lafayette  in  the  Revolutionary  War 
was  chiefly  due  to  the  mighty  prestige  of  his  rank — not  his 


204 


THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


205 


rank  as  a  major-general,  but  his  imaginary,  intangible 
rank  as  marquis.  His  coming  here  in  1777,  a  young  man 
of  twenty,  was  an  event  which  interested  two  continents; 
and  it  was  only  his  rank  which  made  it  of  the  slightest 
significance.  The  sage  old  Franklin  knew  this  very  well 
when  he  consented  to  his  coming,  and  wrote  a  private 
note  to  General  Washington  suggesting  that  the  young 
nobleman  should  not  be  much  hazarded  in  battle,  but 
kept  rather  as  an  ornamental  appendage  to  the  cause. 
He  proved  indeed  to  be  a  young  man  of  real  merit — a 
brave,  zealous,  disinterested,  and  enterprising  soldier — one 
who  would  have  made  his  way  and  borne  an  honorable 
part  if  he  had  not  been  a  marquis.  But,  after  all,  his 
rank  served  the  cause  better  than  any  nameless  youth 
could  have  served  it. 

I  met  only  the  other  day  a  striking  illustration  of  this 
fact,  one  that  showed  the  potent  spell  which  his  mere 
rank  exerted  over  the  minds  of  the  Indians.  On  coming 
here  early  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  he  performed  a 
most  essential  service  which  only  a  French  nobleman 
could  have  rendered.  It  was  a  terrible  question  in  1777, 
which  side  the  Six  Nations  would  take  in  the  strife. 
These  tribes,  which  then  occupied  the  whole  of  central 
and  western  New  York,  being  united  in  one  confederacy, 
could  have  inflicted  enormous  damage  upon  the  frontier 
settlements  if  they  had  sided  against  Congress.  Lafayette 
went  among  them  ;  and  they,  too,  were  subject  to  the 
spell  of  his  rank,  which  is  indeed  most  powerful  over  bar¬ 
barous  minds.  He  made  a  talk  to  them.  He  explained, 
as  far  as  he  could, the  nature  of  the  controversy,  and  told 
them  that  their  old  friends,  the  French,  were  joined,  heart 
and  soul,  with  the  Americans,  against  their  old  enemies, 
the  English.  He  prevailed.  They  afterwards  admitted 
that  it  was  owing  to  his  advice,  and  especially  his  confi¬ 
dent  prophecy  of  the  final  victory  of  the  Americans,  that 
13 


206 


THE  'V7IFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


induced  so  large  a  portion  of  the  Six  Nations  to  remain 
neutral.  What  young  man  of  twenty,  unaided  by  rank 
f.nd  title,  could  have  done  this  service  ? 

The  war  ended.  In  1784  the  marquis  returned  to 
America,  to  visit  General  Washington  and  his  old  com¬ 
rades.  There  was  trouble  again  with  the  Six  Nations, 
owing  to  the  retention  by  the  British  of  seven  important 
frontier  posts,  Detroit,  Mackinaw,  Oswego,  Ogdensburgh, 
Niagara,  and  two  forts  on  Lake  Champlain.  Seeing  the 
British  flag  still  floating  over  these  places  confused  the 
Indian  mind,  made  them  doubt  the  success  of  the  Ameri¬ 
cans,  and  disposed  them  to  continue  a  profitable  warfare. 
Congress  appointed  three  commissioners  to  hold  a  confer¬ 
ence  with  them  at  Fort  Schuyler,  which  stood  upon  the 
site  of  the  modern  city  of  Rome,  about  a  hundred  miles 
west  of  Albany.  Once  more  the  United  States  availed 
themselves  of  the  influence  of  Lafayette’s  rank  over  the 
Indians.  The  commissioners  invited  him  to  attend  the 
treaty. 

In  September,  1784,  James  Madison,  then  thirty-three 
years  of  age,  started  on  a  northward  tour,  and,  meeting 
the  marquis  in  Baltimore,  determined  to  go  with  him  to 
the  treaty  ground.  The  two  young  gentlemen  were  here 
in  New  York  during  the  second  week  of  September,  and 
the  marquis  was  the  observed  of  all  observers.  Both  the 
young  gentlemen  were  undersized,  and  neither  of  them 
was  good-looking ;  but  the  presence  of  the  French  noble¬ 
man  was  an  immense  event,  as  we  can  still  see  from  the 
newspapers  of  that  and  the  following  week.  After  enjoy¬ 
ing  a  round  of  festive  attentions,  they  started  on  their 
way  up  the  Hudson  river  in  a  barge,  but  not  before  Mr. 
Madison  had  sent  off  to  the  American  minister  in  Paris 
(Mr.  Jefferson)  a  packet  of  New  York  papers  containing 
eulogistic  notices  of  Lafayette,  for  the  gratification  of 
the  French  people. 


THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


207 


They  arrived  at  Fort  Schuyler  in  due  time — the  mar¬ 
quis,  Mr.  Madison,  the  three  commissioners,  and  other  per¬ 
sons  of  note.  But  the  Indians  had  no  eyes  and  no  ears 
except  for  the  little  Frenchman,  twenty-seven  years  of 
age,  whom  they  called  Kayenlaa.  The  commissioners 
were  nothing  in  their  eyes,  and  although  they  did  not 
enjoy  their  insignificance,  they  submitted  to  it  with  good 
grace,  and  asked  the  Indians  to  listen  to  the  voice  of 
Kayenlaa.  He  rose  to  speak,  and  soon  showed  himself  a 
master  of  the  Indian  style  of  oratory. 

“In  selling  your  lands,”  said  he,  “do  not  consult  the 
keg  of  rum ,  and  give  them  away  to  the  first  adventurer.” 

lie  reminded  them  of  his  former  advice,  and  showed 
them  how  his  prophecies  had  come  true. 

“  My  predictions,”  said  he,  have  been  fulfilled.  Open 
your  ears  to  the  new  advice  of  your  father.” 

He  urged  them  strongly  to  conclude  a  treaty  of  peace 
with  the  Americans,  and  thus  have  plenty  of  the  French 
articles  of  manufacture  of  which  they  used  to  be  so  fond. 
The  leader  of  the  war  party  was  a  young  chief,  equally 
famous  as  a  warrior  and  as  an  orator,  named  Red  Jacket, 
who  replied  to  Lafayette  in  the  most  impassioned  strain, 
calling  upon  his  tribe  to  continue  the  war.  It  was  thought, 
at  the  time,  that  no  appeals  to  the  reason  of  the  Indians 
could  have  neutralized  the  effect  of  Red  Jacket’s  fiery 
eloquence.  It  was  the  spell  of  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette’s 
rank  and  name  which  probably  enabled  the  commissioner 
to  come  to  terms  with  the  red  men. 

“  During  this  scene,”  reports  Mr.  Madison,  “  and  even 
during  the  whole  stay  of  fhe  marquis,  he  was  the  only 
conspicuous  figure.  The  commissioners  were  eclipsed. 
All  of  them  probably  felt  it.” 

The  chief  of  the  Oneida  tribe  admitted  on  this  occasion 
that  “the  word  which  Lafayette  had  spoken  to  them  early 
in  the  war  had  prevented  them  from  being  led  to  the 


208 


THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


wrong  side  of  it.”  Forty -one  years  after  this  memorable 
scene — that  is  to  say,  in  the  year  1825 — Lafayette  was  at 
Buffalo;  and  among  the  persons  who  called  upon  him 
was  an  aged  Indian  chief,  much  worn  by  time,  and  more 
by  strong  drink.  He  asked  the  marquis  if  he  remembered 
the  Indian  Council  at  Fort  Schuyler.  He  replied  that  he 
had  not  forgotten  it,  and  he  asked  the  Indian  if  he  knew 
what  had  become  of  the  young  chief  who  had  opposed 
With  such  burning  eloquence  the  burying  of  the  toma¬ 
hawk. 

“  He  is  before  you  !  ”  was  the  old  man’s  reply. 

“  Time,”  said  the  marquis,  “has  much  changed  us  both 
since  that  meeting.” 

“Ah!”  rejoined  Red  Jacket;  “time  has  not  been  so 
hard  upon  you  as  it  has  upon  me.  It  has  left  to  you  a 
fresh  countenance  and  hair  to  cover  your  head  ;  while  to 
me — look  !  ” 

Taking  a  handkerchief  from  his  head  he  showed  his 
baldness  with  a  sorrowful  countenance.  To  that  hour 
Red  Jacket  had  remained  an  enemy  to  everything  English, 
and  would  not  even  speak  the  language.  The  general, 
who  well  understood  the  art  of  pleasing,  humored  the  old 
man  so  far  as  to  speak  to  him  a  few  words  in  the  Indian 
tongue,  which  greatly  pleased  the  chief,  and  much 
increased  his  estimate  of  Lafayette’s  abilities. 

Such  was  the  amazing  power  of  that  mysterious  old- 
world  rank  which  Lafayette  possessed.  Let  us  not  forget, 
however,  that  his  rank  would  have  been  of  small  use  to 
us  if  that  had  been  his  only  gift.  In  early  life  he  was 
noted  for  two  traits  of  character  ;  which,  however,  were 
not  very  uncommon  among  the  young  French  nobles  of 
the  period.  He  had  an  intense  desire  to  distinguish  him¬ 
self  in  his  profession,  and  he  had  a  strong  inclination 
toward  Republican  principles.  He  tells  us  whence  he 
derived  this  tendency.  At  the  age  of  nine  he  fell  in  with 


THE  WIFE  UF  LAFAYETTE. 


20Q 


a  little  book  of  Letters  about  England,  written  by  Yoltaire, 
which  gave  him  some  idea  of  a  free  country.  The  author 
of  the  Letters  dwelt  upon  the  freedom  of  thinking  and 
printing  that  prevailed  in  England,  and  described  the 
Exchange  at  London,  where  the  Jews  and  Christians, 
C  itholics  and  Protestants,  Church  of  England  men  and 
Dissenters,  Quakers  and  Deists,  all  mingled  peacefully 
together  and  transacted  business  without  inquiring  into 
one  another’s  creed.  The  author  mentioned  other  things 
of  the  same  nature,  which  were  very  strange  and  captivat¬ 
ing  to  the  inhabitants  of  a  country  governed  so  despotic¬ 
ally  as  France  was  when  Lafayette  Avas  a  boy. 

The  book  made  an  indelible  impression  upon  his  eager 
and  susceptible  mind.  He  used  to  say  in  after  years  that 
he  Avas  “  a  republican  at  nine.”  He  Avas,  nevertheless,  a 
member  of  the  privileged  order  of  his  country,  and  if  ho 
had  been  bom  in  another  age  he  Avould  in  all  probability 
have  soon  outlived  the  romantic  sentiments  of  his  youth, 
and  run  the  career  usual  to  men  of  his  rank. 

In  the  summer  of  1TTG,  when  he  was  not  yet  quite 
nineteen,  he  Avas  stationed  with  his  regiment  at  Metz, 
then  a  garrisoned  toAvn  near  the  eastern  frontier  of  France. 
An  English  prince,  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  brother  to 
the  King  of  England,  visited  this  post  a  feiv  weeks  after 
Congress  at  Philadelphia  had  signed  the  Declaration  of 
Independence.  The  French  general  in  command  at  Metz 
gave  a  dinner  to  the  prince,  to  Avhich  scxreral  officers  xvere 
invited,  Lafayette  among  the  rest.  It  so  happened  that 
the  prince  rcccix’ed  that  day  letters  from  England,  which 
contained  news  from  America. 

The  news  was  of  thrilling  interest :  Poston  lost — Inde¬ 
pendence  declared — mighty  forces  gathering  to  crush  the 
rebellion — Washington,  victorious  in  Ncav  England,  pre- 
paring  to  defend  New  York!  News  Avas  sIoav  in  travel¬ 
ing  then  ;  and  hence  it  Avas  that  our  j'oung  soldier  now 


210 


THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


heard  these  details  for  the  first  time  at  the  table  of  hia 
commanding  officer.  We  can  imagine  the  breathless 
interest  with  which  he  listened  to  the  story,  what  ques¬ 
tions  he  asked,  and  how  he  gradually  drew  from  the  prince 
the  whole  interior  history  of  the  movement.  From  the 
admissions  of  the  duke  himself,  he  drew  the  inference 
that  the  colonists  were  in  the  right.  He  saw  in  them  a 
people  fighting  in  defence  of  that  very  liberty  of  which 
he  had  read  in  the  English  Letters  of  Voltaire.  Before 
he  rose  from  the  table  that  day,  the  project  occurred  to 
his  mind  of  going  to  America,  and  offering  his  services 
to  the  American  people  in  their  struggle  for  Independence. 

t;  My  heart,”  as  he  afterwards  wrote,  “  espoused  warmly 
the  cause  of  liberty,  and  1  thought  of  nothing  but  of 
adding  also  the  aid  of  my  banner.” 

And  the  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  completely 
he  was  fascinated  by  the  idea.  Knowing  well  how  such 
a  scheme  would  appear  to  his  prudent  relations,  he  deter¬ 
mined  to  judge  this  matter  for  himself.  He  placed  a  new 
motto  on  his  coat-of-arms : 

Cur  non  ? 

This  is  Latin  for,  Why  not  ?  He  chose  those  words, 
he  says,  because  they  would  serve  equally  as  an  encour¬ 
agement  to  himself  and  a  reply  to  others.  His  first  step 
was  to  go  on  leave  to  Paris,  where  Silas  Deane  was 
already  acting  as  the  representative  of  Congress,  secretly 
favored  by  the  French  ministry.  Upon  consulting  two  of 
his  young  friends,  he  found  them  enthusiastic  in  the  same 
cause,  and  abundantly  willing  to  go  with  him,  if  they 
could  command  the  means.  When,  however,  he  sub¬ 
mitted  the  project  to  an  experienced  family  friend,  the 
Count  de  Broglie,  he  met  firm  opposition. 

“  I  have  seen  your  uncle,”  said  the  count,  “  die  in  the 
wars  of  Italy ;  I  witnessed  your  father’s  death  at  the  bat¬ 
tle  of  Minden,  and  I  will  not  be  accessory  to  the  ruin  of 
the  only  remaining  branch  of  the  family.” 


THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


2 1 1 


He  tried  in  vain  to  dissuade  the  young  man  from  a 
purpose  which  seemed  to  him  most  rash  and  chimerical. 
One  person  that  favored  his  purpose  was  his  beautiful 
young  wife,  already  the  mother  of  one  child  and  soon  to 
be  the  mother  of  a  second.  She,  with  the  spirit  and 
devotion  natural  to  a  French  lady  of  eighteen,  entered 
heartily  into  the  very  difficult  business  of  getting  off  her 
young  husband  to  win  glory  for  both  by  fighting  for  the 
American  insurgents. 

Anastasie  de  Noailles  was  her  maiden  name.  She  was 
the  daughter  of  a  house  which  had  eight  centuries  of 
recorded  history,  and  which,  in  each  of  these  centuries, 
had  given  to  France  soldiers  or  priests  of  national 
importance  and  European  renown.  The  chateau  of 
Noailles  (near  the  city  of  Toul),  portions  of  which  date 
as  far  back  as  A.  D.  1050,  was  the  cradle  of  the  race : 
and  to-day  in  Paris  there  is  a  Duke  de  Noailles,  and  a 
Marquis  de  Noailles,  descendants  of  that  Pierre  do 
Noailles  who  was  lord  of  the  old  chateau  three  hundred 
and  fifty  years  before  America  was  discovered. 

Old  as  her  family  was,  Mademoiselle  de  Noailles  was 
one  of  the  youngest  brides,  as  her  Marquis  was  one  of  the 
youngest  husbands.  An  American  company  would  have 
smiled  to  see  a  boy  of  sixteen  and  a  half  years  of  age, 
presenting  himself  at  the  altar  to  be  married  to  a  girl  of 
fourteen.  We  must  beware,  however,  of  sitting  in  judg¬ 
ment  on  people  of  other  climes  and  other  times.  Lafay¬ 
ette  was  a  great  match.  His  father  had  fallen  in  the 
battle  of  Minden,  when  the  boy  was  two  years  of  age, 
leaving  no  other  heir.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  the 
officer  who  commanded  the  battery  from  which  the  ball 
was  fired  that  killed  Lafayette’s  father,  was  the  same 
General  Phillips  with  whom  the  son  was  so  actively 
engaged  in  Virginia,  during  the  summer  of  1781. 

The  mother  of  our  marquis  died  ten  years  after  her 


212 


TIIS  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


husband.  Her  father,  a  nobleman  of  great  estate,  soon 
followed  her  to  the  grave,  and  so  this  boy  of  fourteen 
inherited  the  estates  of  two  important  families.  Madem¬ 
oiselle  dc  Xoallies  had  great  rank  and  considerable  wealth. 
It  is  perhaps  safe  to  infer  that  she  was  not  remarkable 
for  beauty,  because  no  one  of  her  many  eulogists  claims  it 
for  her.  Nearly  all  marriages  among  the  nobility  were 
then  matters  of  bargain  and  interest,  mutual  love  having 
little  to  do  with  them  ;  yet  many  marriages  of  that  kind 
were  very  happy,  and  in  all  respects  satisfactory.  Lafay¬ 
ette’s  was  one  of  these.  The  pair  not  only  loved  one 
another  with  ardent  and  sustained  affection,  but  the  mar¬ 
riage  united  the  two  families,  and  called  into  being 
numerous  children  and  grandchildren. 

Imagine  them  married  then,  in  April,  1774,  the  year  in 
which  the  Continental  Congress  met  at  Philadelphia. 

The  young  husband — officer  in  a  distinguished  regi¬ 
ment — was  not  much  at  home  during  the  first  two  years 
after  his  marriage ;  a  circumstance  which  was  probably 
conducive  to  the  happiness  of  both,  for  they  were  too 
young  to  be  satisfied  with  a  tranquil  domestic  life. 

One  day  in  the  summer  of  1776  he  returned  suddenly 
and  unexpectedly  to  Paris.  His  wife  observed  that  some 
great  matter  possessed  his  mind.  There  is  reason  to 
believe  that  she  was  among  the  first  to  be  made  acquainted 
with  his  scheme  of  going  to  America  and  entering  the 
service  of  Congress.  A  married  girl  of  sixteen — the  very 
age  of  romance — she  sympathized  at  first  with  his  pur¬ 
pose,  and  always  kept  his  secret.  Nine  months  of  excite¬ 
ment  followed,  during  which  he  went  and  came  several 
times,  often  disappointed,  always  resolved  ;  until  at  length 
Madame  de  Lafayette  received  a  letter  from  him,  written 
on  board  the  ship  Victory,  that  was  to  convey  him  to 
America. 

This  was  in  April,  1777,  when  already  she  held  in  her 


THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


2T3 


arms  their  first  child,  the  baby  Henriette,  who  died  while 
her  father  was  still  tossed  upon  the  ocean.  It  was  many 
months  after  his  landing  in  America  before  he  heard  of 
his  child’s  death,  and  lie  kept  writing  letter  after  letter  in 
which  he  begged  his  wife  to  kiss  for  him  the  infant  whose 
lips  were  cold  in  the  grave.  Ilis  letters  to  her  during  his 
long  absences  in  America  were  full  of  affection  and  ten¬ 
derness.  He  calls  her  his  life,  his  love,  and  his  dearest 
love.  In  the  first  letter  written  at  sea,  he  tries  once  more 
to  reconcile  her  to  his  departure. 

“  If,”  said  he,  “  you  could  know  all  that  I  have  suffered 
while  thus  flying  from  all  I  love  best  in  the  world  !  Must 
I  join  to  this  affliction  the  grief  of  hearing  that  you  do 
not  pardon  me  ?  ” 

lie  endeavored  to  convince  her  that  he  was  not  in  the 
least  danger  of  so  much  as  a  graze  from  a  British  bullet. 

“  Ask  the  opinion,”  said  he,  “  of  all  general  officers — 
and  these  are  very  numerous,  because  having  once 
obtained  that  height,  they  are  no  longer  exposed  to  any 
hazards.” 

Then  he  turned  to  speak  of  herself  and  of  their  child. 

“  Henrietta,”  said  he,  “  is  so  delightful  that  she  has 
made  me  in  love  with  little  girls.” 

And  then  he  prattled  on  with  a  happy  blending  of  good 
feeling  and  good  humor,  until  the  darkness  of  the  even¬ 
ing  obliged  him  to  lay  aside  the  pen,  as  lie  had  prudently 
forbidden  the  lighting  of  candles  on  board  his  ship.  It 
vwas  easy  to  write  these  long  letters  in  the  cabin  of  his 
vessel,  but  it  was  by  no  means  easy  to  send  them  back 
across  the  ocean,  traversed  by  English  cruisers.  When 
Madame  do  Lafayette  received  this  letter  their  Henriette 
had  been  dead  for  nearly  a  year.  He  ran  his  career  in 
America.  He  was  domesticated  with  Gen.  Washington. 
He  was  wounded  at  the  battle  of  Brandywine.  He  passed 
the  memorable  winter  at  Valley  Forge. 


214 


THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


Iii  June,  1778,  thirteen  months  after  leaving  home,  a 
French  vessel  brought  to  America  the  news  of  the  French 
alliance,  and  to  him  that  of  the  death  of  his  Henrietta, 
and  the  birth  of  his  second  daughter,  Anastasie.  There 
is  nothing  in  their  correspondence  prettier  than  the  man¬ 
ner  in  which  he  speaks  to  her  of  his  wound. 

“  Whilst  endeavoring  to  rally  the  troops,”  he  tells  her, 
“  the  English  honored  me  with  a  musket-ball,  which 
slightly  wounded  me  in  the  leg — but  it  is  a  trifle,  my 
dearest  love  ;  the  ball  touched  neither  bone  nor  nerve,  and 
I  have  escaped  with  the  obligation  of  lying  on  my  back 
for  some  time.” 

In  October,  1778,  about  a  year  and  a  half  after  his 
departure,  Madame  de  Lafayette  enjoyed  the  transport  of 
welcoming  her  husband  home  on  a  leave  of  absence. 

Once,  during  the  spring  of  1778,  she  was  present  at  a 
party  at  a  great  house  in  Paris,  which  was  attended  by 
the  aged  Voltaire,  then  within  a  few  weeks  of  the  close 
of  his  life.  The  old  poet,  recognizing  her  among  the 
ladies,  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  complimented  her  upon  the 
brilliant  and  wise  conduct  of  her  young  husband  in 
America.  She  received  this  act  of  homage  with  graceful 
modesty.  When  Lafayette  again  returned,  at  the  end  of 
the  war,  we  can  truly  say  he  was  the  most  shining  person¬ 
age  in  France.  At  court  the  young  couple  were  over¬ 
whelmed  with  flattering  attentions,  and  the  king  promoted 
the  marquis  to  the  rank  of  field-marshal  of  the  French 
army.  During  the  nest  seven  years,  Madame  de  Lafay¬ 
ette  was  at  the  height  of  earthly  felicity.  Her  two 
daughters,  Anastasie  and  Virginie,  and  her  son,  George 
Washington,  were  affectionate  and  promising  children, 
and  there  seemed  nothing  wanting  to  her  lot  that  could 
render  it  happier  or  more  distinguished. 

Then  came  the  storm  of  the  French  Revolution.  Both 
husband  and  wife  were  cast  down  before  it.  While  he 


THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


215 


was  immured  in  an  Austrian  dungeon,  she,  with  her  two 
daughters,  was  confined  in  one  of  the  prisons  of  Paris, 
along  with  other  gentle  victims  of  the  Terror.  Many  of 
her  friends  went  from  her  embrace  to  the  guillotine.  She, 
fortunately,  escaped  the  axe,  and,  a  few  months  after  the 
death  of  Robespierre,  she  was  released,  and  prepared  at 
once  to  penetrate  to  the  remote  fortress  in  which  her 
husband  was  confined.  She  sent  her  son  to  America,  con¬ 
signing  him  to  the  care  of  President  Washington,  who 
accepted  the  trust,  and  superintended  the  education  of  the 
lad  with  the  affectionate  care  of  a  father.  The  mother 
and  her  daughters,  in  September,  1795,  set  out  for  Vienna, 
she  calling  herself  Mrs.  Moticr,  and  giving  herself  out  as 
an  English  lady  traveling  in  disguise  to  escape  pursuit. 

Upon  reaching  Vienna  she  obtained  an  audience  of  tho 
Emperor,  and  implored  her  husband’s  release;  alleging 
truly  that  he  had  been  Marie  Antoinette’s  best  friend  in 
France.  The  Emperor’s  reply  was,  “My  hands  are  tied.” 
He  refused  to  release  tho  General,  but  permitted  Madame 
de  Lafayette  and  her  daughters  to  share  his  confinement. 
For  twenty-two  months  they  remained  in  prison  with  him, 
suffering  the  horrors  of  a  detention,  which  was  cruelly 
aggravated  by  supcrserviceable  underlings.  Anastasie, 
the  elder  daughter,  was  then  sixteen  years  of  age,  and 
Virginie  was  thirteen.  Though  they,  too,  were  subjected 
to  very  rigorous  treatment,  they  preserved  their  health 
and  cheerfulness.  The  mother  suffered  extremely,  and 
more  than  once  she  was  at  death’s  door.  When,  in  Sep¬ 
tember,  1797,  the  doors  of  the  fortress  of  Olmutz  were 
opened,  she  could  scarcely  walk  to  the  carriage  which  bore 
them  to  liberty.  They  made  their  way  to  Hamburg,  where 
they  were  all  received  into  the  family  of  John  Parish,  the 
American  consul.  Mr.  Parish  afterwards  described  tho 
scene : 

“  An  immense  crowd  announced  their  arrival.  Tho 
streets  were  lined,  and  my  house  was  soon  filled  with 


216 


THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


people.  A  lane  was  formed  to  let  the  prisoners  pass  to 
my  room.  Lafayette  led  the  way,  and  was  followed  by 
his  infirm  lady  and  two  daughters.  He  flew  into  my 
arms;  his  wife  and  daughters  clung  to  me.  The  silence 
was  broken  by  an  exclamation  of, — 

“‘My  friend!  My  dearest  friend !  My  deliverer!  See 
the  work  of  your  generosity !  My  poor,  poor  wife,  hardly 
able  to  support  herself!’ 

“And  indeed  she  was  not  standing,  but  hanging  on  my 
arm,  bathed  in  lears,  while  her  two  lovely  girls  had  hold 
of  the  other.  There  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  room. 

“  I  placed  her  on  a  sofa.  She  sobbed  and  wept  much, 
and  could  utter  but  few  words.  Again  the  Marquis  came 
to  my  arms,  his  heart  overflowing  with  gratitude.  I 
never  saw  a  man  in  such  complete  ecstasy  of  body  and 
mind.” 

Madame  de  Lafayette  never  recovered  her  health.  She 
lived  ten  years  longer,  and  died  December  24,  1807, 
aged  forty-seven  years,  leaving  her  daughters  and  her  son 
happily  established.  An  American  who  visited,  twenty 
years  after,  the  Chfiteau  of  La  Grange,  which  was  the 
abode  of  General  Lafayette  during  the  last  forty  years 
of  his  life,  found  there  a  numerous  company  of  her 
descendants,  a  son,  two  daughters,  and  twelve  grand¬ 
children,  forming  a  circle  which  he  described  in  glowing 
terms  of  admiration.  The  house  was  full  of  America 
On  the  walls  were  portraits  of  Washington,  Franklin, 
Morris,  Adams,  Jefferson,  and  a  painting  of  the  siege  of 
Yorktown.  Objects  brought  from  America,  or  received 
thence  as  gifts,  were  seen  everywhere,  and  there  was  one 
room  containing  nothing  but  American  things,  which  the 
General  called  by  the  name  “  America.”  There  was  an 
American  ice-house  in  the  garden,  and  groves  of  American 
trees  in  the  park.  It  was  one  of  the  most  estimable  and 
happy  families  in  France.  Alas !  that  the  fond  mother 
and  the  devoted  wife  should  have  been  wanting  to  it. 


BETSEY  PATTEKSOU. 


BETSY  PATTERSON,  OTHERWISE  MADAME  JEROME 
BONAPARTE,  OF  BALTIMORE. 


N  the  spring  of  1766,  a  poor  boy  of  fourteen,  named 


1  William  Patterson,  from  the  north  of  Ireland,  landed 
at  Philadelphia.  He  was  the  son  of  a  small  farmer, 
a  Protestant,  one  of  that  conquering  Scotch-Irish  race 
which  has  contributed  so  many  distinguished  persons  to 
the  history  of  the  United  States.  The  boy  obtained  a 
place  in  the  counting-house  of  an  Irish  merchant  in  Phil¬ 
adelphia,  and  sei’ved  him  with  singular  diligence  and 
fidelity.  He  acted  upon  the  principle  of  making  himself 
valuable  to  his  employer. 

At  twenty-one  he  was  in  business  as  a  merchant.  When 
he  had  been  established  about  two  years  the  American 
Revolution  broke  out,  threatening  to  put  a  stop  to  all 
business.  William  Patterson  availed  himself  of  the  crisis 
to  make  his  own  fortune,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  serve 
his  adopted  country.  He  loaded  two  small  vessels  with 
tobacco,  indigo,  and  other  American  products,  investing 
in  the  speculation  the  whole  of  his  small  capital,  and  sailed 
for  France.  Both  vessels  reached  France  in  safety.  He 
sold  the  cargoes,  invested  the  proceeds  in  warlike  stores, 
of  which  General  Washington  was  in  direst  need,  and 
set  sail  for  home.  On  the  way  he  touched  at  St.  Eustatius, 
an  island  of  the  Dutch  West  Indies,  then  a  place  of  great 
trade,  containing  about  twenty-five  thousand  inhabitants. 
Seeing  his  chance,  he  remained  on  this  island,  and  sent 
his  vessels  to  Philadelphia. 


219 


220 


BETSY  PATTERSON. 


They  were  both  so  lucky  as  to  escape  the  cruisers,  and 
to  arrive  in  March,  1776,  when  the  army  had  scarcely 
powder  enough  to  conceal  from  the  enemy  that  they  were 
short  of  powder.  We  can  imagine  that  these  two  cargoes 
of  ammunition  were  welcome  enough,  and  sold  at  a  good 
price.  The  vessels  appear  to  have  returned  to  the  West 
Indies,  where  William  Patterson  remained  two  or  three 
years,  sending  supplies  home  as  best  he  could,  until  the 
alliance  with  France  put  an  end  to  the  scarcity  of  military 
stores.  He  then  prepared  to  return.  In  June,  1778,  no 
landed  in  Baltimore,  then  a  town  of  three  or  four  thou¬ 
sand  inhabitants,  bringing  with  him,  in  gold  and  mer¬ 
chandise,  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  the  result  of  five 
years’  business.  ■ 

He  was  then  twenty-six  years  of  age.  Upon  looking  at 
Baltimore  with  the  eyes  of  a  long-headed  man  of  busi¬ 
ness,  observing  its  situation,  and  perceiving  the  necessity 
of  its  becoming  one  of  the  first  cities  of  the  world,  he 
concluded  to  settle  there.  With  one  half  of  his  fortune 
he  bought  lots  and  lands  in  and  near  the  city,  as  Astor 
did  in  New  York  a  few  years  later.  With  the  other  half 
of  his  capital,  including  his  little  fleet  of  small  vessels, 
he  went  into  the  business  of  a  shipping  merchant. 

During  the  next  twenty  years  the  commerce  of  the 
infant  republic  had  a  most  rapid  development,  particularly 
while  supplying  the  warring  powers  of  Europe  with  provi¬ 
sions.  William  Patterson  in  those  twenty  years  accumu¬ 
lated  what  was  then  considered  an  immense  fortune. 
President  Jefferson,  in  1804,  spoke  of  him  as  probably 
the  richest  person  in  the  United  States  except  Charles 
Carrol  of  Carrollton,  who  inherited  lands  and  slaves.  His 
fortune,  too,  was  a  growing  one,  since  he  continued  to 
purchase  lands  near  the  city,  that  were  certain  to  rise  in 
Value  with  the  increase  of  the  place. 

After  settling  in  Baltimore  he  married  a  young  lady 


BETSY  PATTERSON. 


221 


named  Dorcas  Spear,  and  soon  became  a  family  man  of 
the  old-fashioned  type.  The  Scotch-Irish  have  the  family 
instinct  very  strong,  and  are  apt  to  center  all  their  hopes 
of  happiness  in  a  home.  He  was  a  man  of  quiet  and 
regular  habits ;  during  a  long  life  he  scarcely  ever  left 
Baltimore,  either  on  business  or  pleasure.  He  said  once, 
in  speaking  of  his  own  history,  that  ever  since  he  had 
had  a  house  of  his  own  it  had  been  his  invariable  rule  to 
be  up  last  at  night,  and  to  see  that  the  fires  and  lights 
were  in  a  safe  condition  before  going  to  bed.  Like  other 
rich  men,  he  served  as  bank  director  and  president,  and 
held  other  offices  of  a  similar  character  from  time  to 
time. 

The  most  fortunate  individuals  —  and  few  men  were 
more  fortunate  than  this  Baltimore  merchant  —  have 
their  share  of  trouble.  Calamity  came  to  him  in  the 
bewitching  guise  of  a  most  beautiful  daughter,  born  in  the 
early  years  of  his  wedded  life.  This  was  that  Elizabeth 
Patterson  Bonaparte,  whose  recent  death  at  the  age  of 
ninety-four  has  called  attention  anew  to  the  strange 
romance  of  her  early  life.  In  1803,  at  eighteen  years  of 
age,  she  was  the  pride  of  her  father’s  home,  and  the 
prettiest  girl  in  Baltimore,  a  place  noted  then,  as  now,  for 
the  beauty  of  its  women.  If  the  early  portraits  of  her 
are  correct,  the  word  pretty  describes  her  very  well. 
There  was  a  girlish  and  simple  expression  in  her  counte¬ 
nance  at  variance  with  her  character,  for,  with  all  her 
faults,  she  was  a  woman  of  force. 

In  the  fall  of  1803  this  Baltimore  beauty  attended  the 
races  near  the  city,  and  there  she  met  her  fate.  Jerome 
Bonaparte  of  the  French  navy,  Napoleon’s  youngest 
brother  —  that  brother  whom  he  hoped  would  accomplish 
on  the  ocean  what  he  had  done  on  the  land  —  was  at  the 
races  that  day.  Napoleon  wanted  a  great  admiral  to 
cope  with  Nelson  and  conquer  the  British  navy,  and  ho 


222 


BETSY  PATTERSON. 


had  flattered  himself  that  this  favorite  brother  could  be 
the  man.  If  beauty  of  form  and  face  could  make  a  great 
commander,  Jerome  -would  have  been  a  promising  candi¬ 
date  ;  for  on  the  day  that  he  rode  out  to  the  Baltimore 
races  in  1803,  he  was  one  of  the  most  superb  looking 
young  men  then  living. 

They  met !  All  the  world  knows  what  followed. 

William  Patterson,  with  his  sturdy  Scottish  sense,  per¬ 
ceived  the  utter  incongruity  and  absurdity  of  such  a 
match.  He  opposed  it  by  every  means  in  his  power.  He 
used  both  authority  and  persuasion.  He  sent  her  out  of 
town,  but  she  returned  more  infatuated  than  before.  At 
length,  discovering  that  both  of  them  were  set  upon  the 
marriage,  he  gave  a  reluctant  consent ;  and  married  they 
were,  by  the  Roman  Catholic  bishop  of  Baltimore,  her 
father  taking  every  precaution  to  fulfill  all  the  forms 
which  the  laws  of  both  nations  required.  The  Bonaparte 
family,  with  one  exception,  approved  the  match,  and 
several  of  them  congratulated  the  newly  married  pair 
That  one  exception  was  Napoleon,  the  head  of  the  family, 
First  Consul,  and  about  to  declare  himself  Emperor.  He 
refused  to  recognize  the  marriage.  When,  at  length, 
Jerome  stood  in  his  presence  to  plead  the  case  of  his 
young  and  lovely  wife,  who  was  about  to  become  a 
mother,  Napoleon  addressed  him  thus  : 

“  So,  sir,  you  are  the  first  of  the  family  who  has  shame¬ 
fully  abandoned  his  post.  It  will  require  many  splendid 
actions  to  wipe  off  that  stain  from  your  reputation.  As 
to  your  love  affair  with  your  little  girl,  I  pay  no  regard 
to  it.” 

And  he  never  did.  Jerome  had  the  baseness  to 
abandon  his  wife,  and  she  stooped  to  accept  from  Napo¬ 
leon  an  income  of  twelve  thousand  dollars  a  year,  which 
was  paid  to  her  as  long  as  the  hand  of  that  coarse  soldier 
had  the  wasting  of  the  French  peoples’  earnings.  She 


BETSY  PATTERSON. 


223 


came  back  to  Baltimore  with  her  child,  one  of  the  most 
wretched  of  women.  She  thought  that  marrying  into 
this  family  of  Corsican  robbers  had  elevated  her  in  “  rank  ” 
above  her  wise  and  virtuous  father !  She  wrote  to  that 
father  many  years  after,  describing  her  feelings  at  this 
time. 

“  I  hated  and  loathed  a  residence  in  Baltimore  so  muen, 
that  when  I  thought  I  was  to  spend  my  life  there,  I  tried 
to  screw  my  courage  up  to  the  point  of  committing 
suicide.  My  cowardice,  and  only  my  cowardice,  prevented 
my  exchanging  Baltimore  for  the  grave.  After  having 
married  a  person  of  the  high  rank  I  did,  it  became 
impossible  for  me  ever  to  bend  my  spirit  to  marry  any 
one  who  had  been  my  equal  before  my  marriage,  and  it 
became  impossible  for  me  ever  to  be  contented  in  a 
country  where  there  exists  no  nobility.” 

She  never,  to  the  close  of  her  long  life  of  ninety-four 
years,  ceased  to  cherish  such  sentiments.  In  1849,  she 
wrote  from  Baltimore  to  the  celebrated  Irish  authoress, 
Lady  Morgan,  a  letter  in  which  she  gives  an  amusing 
revelation  of  her  interior  self. 

“  I  consider  it,”  she  wrote,  “  a  good  fortune  for  myself 
that  you  inhabit  London.  To  enjoy  again  your  agreeable 
society  will  be  my  tardy  compensation  for  the  long,  weary, 
unintellectual  years  inflicted  on  me  in  this  my  dull 
native  country,  to  which  I  have  never  owed  advantages, 
pleasures,  or  happiness.  I  owe  nothing  to  my  country ; 
no  one  expects  me  to  be  grateful  for  the  evil  chance  of 
having  been  born  here.  I  shall  emancipate  myself,  par 
la  grace  de  Dieu ,  about  the  middle  of  July  next;  and  I 
will  either  write  to  you  before  I  leave  New  York,  or 
immediately  after  my  arrival  at  Liverpool. 

“  I  had  given  up  all  correspondence  with  my  friends  in 
Europe  during  my  vegetation  in  this  Baltimore.  What 
could  I  write  about  except  the  fluctuations  in  the  security 


224 


BETSY  PATTERSON. 


and  consequent  prices  of  American  stocks.  There  is 
nothing  here  worth  attention  or  interest  save  the  money 
market.  Society,  conversation,  friendship,  belong  to  older 
countries,  and  are  not  yet  cultivated  in  any  part  of  the 
United  States  which  I  have  visited.  You  ought  to  thank 
your  stars  for  your  European  birth  ;  you  may  believe  me 
when  I  assure  you  that  it  is  only  distance  from  republics 
which  lends  enchantment  to  the  view  of  them.  I  hope 
that  about  the  middle  of  next  July  I  shall  begin  to  put 
the  Atlantic  between  the  advantages  and  honors  of 
democracy  and  myself.  France,  je  Vespere  dans  son 
inter et,  is  in  a  state  of  transition,  and  will  not  let  her 
brilliant  society  be  put  under  an  extinguisher  nommee  la 
Ripublique. 

“  The  emperor  hurled  me  back  on  what  I  most  hated 
on  earth — my  Baltimore  obscurity ;  even  that  shock  could 
not  divest  me  of  the  admiration  I  felt  for  his  genius  and 
glory.  I  have  ever  been  an  imperial  Bonapartiste  quand 
merne,  and  I  do  feel  enchanted  at  the  homage  paid  by 
six  millions  of  voices  to  his  memory,  in  voting  an  imperial 
president ;  le  prestige  du  nom  has,  therefore,  elected  the 
prince,  who  has  my  best  wishes,  my  most  ardent  hopes 
for  an  empire.  I  never  could  endure  universal  suffrage 
until  it  elected  the  nephew  of  an  emperor  for  the  chief  of 
a  republic  ;  and  I  shall  be  charmed  with  universal  suffrage 
once  more  if  it  insists  upon  their  president  of  France 
becoming  a  monarch.  I  am  disinterested  personally.  It 
is  not  my  desire  ever  to  return  to  France. 

“  My  dear  Lady  Morgan,  do  you  know  that,  having  been 
cheated  out  of  the  fortune  which  I  ought  to  have  inherited 
from  my  late  rich  and  unjust  parent,  I  have  only  ten 
thousand  dollars,  or  two  thousand  pounds  English,  which 
conveniently  I  can  disburse  annually.  You  talk  of  my 
'■princely  income,’  which  convinces  me  that  you  are 
ignorant  of  th.e  paucity  of  my  means.  I  have  all  my  life 


BETSY  PATTERSON. 


225 


had  poverty  to  contend  with,  pecuniary  difficulties  to 
torture  and  mortify  me ;  and  but  for  my  industry  and 
energy,  and  my  determination  to  conquer  at  least  a  decent 
sufficiency  to  live  on  in  Europe,  I  might  have  remained  as 
poor  as  you  saw  me  in  the  year  1816.” 

She  speaks  in  this  strange  letter  of  having  been  dis¬ 
inherited  by  her  father.  This  was  not  quite  true,  although 
the  poor,  deluded  woman  was  the  plague  of  her  father's 
declining  years.  It  is  but  common  charity  to  think  that 
the  acuteness  of  her  mortification  had  impaired  in  some 
degree  her  reason.  She  spent  many  years  hankering 
after  that  false  European  life,  and  heaping  every  kind  of 
contempt  upon  her  native  land.  She  appears  to  have  been 
incapable  of  human  affection.  She  abandoned  her  father 
and  his  home,  to  roam  around  among  the  tilled  idlers  of 
Europe,  at  a  time  when  he  peculiarly  needed  her  presence 
and  aid.  lie  wrote  to  her  thus  in  1815,  soon  after  the 
death  of  his  wife  : 

“  What  wall  the  world  think  of  a  woman  w  ho  had 
recently  followed  her  mother  and  last  sister  to  the  grave, 
and  quit  her  father’s  house,  where  duty  and  necessity  call 
for  her  attention  as  the  only  female  of  the  family  left, 
and  thought  proper  to  abandon  all  to  seek  for  admiration 
in  foreign  countries?” 

The  old  man  intimates  that  lie,  too,  regarded  her  as  a 
person  not  quite  sound  in  mind.  He  died  in  1885,  aged 
eighty-three  years,  leaving  an  immense  estate,  and  the 
longest  will  ever  recorded  in  Baltimore.  He  did  not  dis* 
inherit  his  daughter,  Betsy  ;  but  left  her  a  few  small 
houses  and  lots ;  which,  howrever,  greatly  increased  in 
value  after  his  death.  He  explains  the  smallness  of  his 
bequest  thus : 

“  The  conduct  of  my  daughter  Betsy  has  through  life 
been  so  disobedient  that  in  110  instance  has  she  ever  con¬ 
sulted  my  opinions  or  feelings ;  indeed,  she  has  causod 


220 


BETSY  PATTERSON. 


me  more  anxiety  and  trouble  than  all  my  other  children 
put  together,  and  her  folly  aud  misconduct  have  occasioned 
me  a  train  of  expense  that  first  and  last  has  cost  n»e 
much  money.  Under  such  circumstances  it  would  not  be 
reasonable,  just,  or  proper  that  she  should  inherit  and 
participate  in  an  equal  proportion  with  my  other  children 
m  an  equal  division  of  my  estate  ;  considering,  however, 
the  weakness  of  human  nature,  and  that  she  is  still  my 
daughter,  it  is  my  will  and  pleasure  to  provide  for  her  as 
follows,  viz. :  I  give  and  devise  to  my  said  daughter  Betsy, 
first,  the  house  and  lot  on  the  east  side  of  South  Street, 
where  she  was  born,  and  which  is  now  occupied  by  Mr. 
Duncan,  the  shoemaker.  Secondly,  the  houses  and  lots  on 
the  corner  of  Market  Street  bridge,  now  occupied  by  Mr. 
Tulley,  the  chairmaker,  and  Mr.  Priestly,  the  cabinet¬ 
maker.  Thirdly,  the  three  new  adjoining  brick  houses, 
and  the  one  on  the  corner  of  Market  and  Frederick 
Streets.  Fourthly,  two  new  brick  houses  and  lots  on  Gay 
Street,  near  Griffith’s  bridge  ;  for  and  during  the  term  of 
the  natural  life  of  my  said  daughter  Betsy  ;  and  after 
her  death  I  give,  devise  and  bequeath  the  same  to  my 
grandson,  Jerome  Napoleon  Bonaparte.” 

She  survived  her  father  many  years,  a  well-known 
figure  in  Baltimore,  a  brisk  old  lady  with  a  red  umbrella 
and  a  black  velvet  bonnet,  with  an  income  of  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  but  living  in  a  boarding-house  on 
two  thousand.  A  lady  asked  her  what  religion  she  pre¬ 
ferred.  She  said  that  if  she  adopted  any  religion  it 
would  be  the  Roman  Catholic,  because  “that  was  a 
religion  of  kings — a  royal  religion.”  Her  niece  said : 
“You  would  not  give  up  Presbyterianism?”  To  which 
she  replied : 

“  The  only  reason  I  would  not  is,  that  I  should  not  like 
to  give  up  the  stool  my  ancestors  had  sat  upon.” 

She  died  in  April,  1879,  and  left  a  million  and  a  half 


BETSY  PATTERSON. 


22  7 


of  dollars  to  her  two  grandsons.  Her  letters  have  been 
published,  and  they  exhibit  to  us  a  character  unlike  that 
of  any  other  American  woman  who  has  been  delineated 
in  print.  She  once  said,  with  equal  sincerity  and  truth, 
that,  in  the  course  of  her  experience  of  life,  she  had 
found  but  one  friend  that  was  always  faithful,  namely, 
her  Purse.  Such  a  woman  can  have  no  other,  and  to  that 
friend  she  was  faithful  unto  death. 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 


WE  are  often  favored  with  remarks  eulogizing  trie 
ladies  of  the  old  school  at  the  expense  of  ladies 
of  the  present  day.  I  do  not  doubt  that  a  vast  majority 
of  the  ladies  whom  our  ancestors  loved  were  estimable 
beings;  but,  then,  folly  is  of  no  age;  it  belongs  to  all 
times,  to  every  race,  and  to  both  sexes.  Ladies  of  the 
old  school !  How  old  ?  How  far  must  we  go  back  beforo 
we  come  to  those  admirable  and  faultless  creatures  ? 

Shall  we  say  the  last  century?  People  who  enjoyed 
the  personal  acquaintance  of  ladies  who  lived  a  hundred 
years  ago  do  not  appear  to  have  thought  so  highly  of  them 
as  some  living  persons  do  who  know  them  only  by  report. 
Consider  one  of  their  habits.  What  are  we  to  think  of 
their  passionate,  reckless,  universal  gambling?  Down  to 
1790,  gambling  was  so  universal  in  the  higher  circles, 
that  we  may  almost  say  society  and  gambling  were 
synonymous  terms.  There  appears  to  have  been  high 
play  at  every  court  and  mansion  every  night.  It  was  the 
regular  resource  among  the  idle  classes  for  getting  through 
the  evenings.  Fox,  whom  Nature  formed  to  be  the 
foremost  Englishman  of  his  time,  —  Fox,  the  Prince  Hal 
of  politics, — lost  two  hundred  thousand  pounds  at  cards 
bv  the  time  he  was  of  age;  and  his  father  had  to  pay  most 
of  it.  The  card-table  was  spoken  of  sometimes  as  a 
school  for  the  acquisition  of  nerve,  fortitude,  and  good 
temper,  since  it  was  required  of  every  one  to  bear  losses 
with  an  appearance  of  cheerfulness.  But  human  nature 
22  8 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 


229 


not  unfrequently  triumphed  over  the  restraints  of  decorum, 
as  well  as  over  the  rules  of  the  game.  There  were  high' 
born  dowagers,  with  whom  it  was  a  costly  honor  to  play. 
Nor  were  losses  always  borne  with  equanimity.  A  writer 
of  the  last  century  relates  a  terrific  scene  which  he  wit¬ 
nessed  in  a  London  drawing-room. 

Two  elderly  ladies  were  seated  at  a  table,  playing  for 
pretty  high  stakes.  Without  going  near  them,  it  was 
easy  to  tell  which  was  losing  and  which  was  winning, 
from  the  expression  of  their  faces.  At  length,  the  gamo 
suddenly  ended  in  a  crushing  disaster  for  one  of  them. 
The  author  describes  the  sweet  and  pleasant  manner 
in  which  the  gamester  of  fifty  years’  standing  bore  her 
loss.  “  Her  face,”  he  says,  “  was  of  a  universal  crimson: 
and  tears  of  rage  seemed  ready  to  start  into  her  eyes.  At 
that  moment,  as  Satan  would  have  it,  her  opponent,  a 
dowager  whose  hair  and  eyebrows  were  as  white  as  those 
of  an  Albiness,  triumphantly  and  briskly  demanded  pay¬ 
ment  for  the  two  black  aces. 

“  ‘  Two  black  aces !  ’  answered  the  loser  in  a  voice 
almost  unintelligible  by  passion.  ‘Here, take  the  money; 
though,  instead,  I  wish  I  could  give  you  two  black  eyes, 
you  old  white  cat !  ’  accompanying  the  wish  with  a  ges¬ 
ture  that  threatened  a  possibility  of  its  execution.  The 
stately,  starched  old  lady,  who,  in  her  eagerness  to  receive 
her  winnings,  had  half  risen  from  her  chair,  sunk  back 
into  it  as  though  she  had  really  received  the  blow.  She 
literally  closed  her  eyes  and  opened  her  mouth,  and  for 
several  moments  thus  remained  fixed  by  the  magnitude 
of  her  horror.” 

We  hear  a  good  deal  about  the  high-breeding  and 
invincible  politeness  of  the  old  time.  There  was  more 
ceremony ;  there  was  more  deference  paid  by  poor  to  rich, 
by  employed  to  employer,  by  commoner  to  lord,  by  citizens 
to  their  public  servants;  but  after  a  wide  survey  of  the 


230 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 


records  of  the  past,  and  noting  hundreds  of  indications 
too  trifling  for  mention,  I  am  fully  persuaded,  that  in  our 
hourly  intercourse  with  one  another  as  mere  human 
beings,  without  regard  to  rank  or  caste,  we  are  more 
polite  than  our  ancestors,  —  more  generally  considerate 
of  one  another’s  feelings,  rights,  and  dignity. 

I  was  turning  over  in  Scribner’s ,  some  time  ago,  “  The 
Correspondence  of  the  first  Earl  of  Malmesbury.”  Good 
heavens !  what  savages  some  of  the  ladies  of  England 
appear  in  those  volumes  of  familiar  letters !  Think  of 
the  ladies  in  the  Pump-Room  at  Bath  getting  into  a  free 
fight,  tearing  one  another’s  hair  and  clothes,  so  that  the 
Riot  Act  was  read,  and  read  in  vain !  We  don’t  do  so  at 
Saratoga.  We  hear  much  now-a-days  of  the  girl  of  the 
period.  There  was  a  Woman’s  Club  in  London  composed 
of  ladies  of  rank,  who  came  and  went  at  all  hours  of  the 
night,  ate,  drank  (drank  deeply  too),  played  for  high 
stakes,  talked  loud,  showed  brawny  arms,  and  boasted  in 
loud,  coarse  voices  of  their  physical  prowess.  A  new 
dance  came  up,  which  these  strong-minded  and  strong- 
limbed  sisters  much  affected.  It  was  for  two  couples,  who 
began  the  dance  by  a  quarrel ;  next  they  fought  a  pair  of 
duels,  firing  real  pistols ;  then  the  couples  danced  a  recoil' 
ciliation  figure,  which  ended  in  an  embrace ;  and  the  dance 
concluded  with  kisses,  well-timed  and  loud,  that  went  off 
like  the  pistols  employed  in  the  fight.  The  dress  of  these 
high-born  barbarians  was  as  monstrous  as  their  manners. 
We  read  of  one  lady,  who,  on  seeing  the  Duchess  of 
Devonshire  enter  a  room  with  two  feathers  sixteen  inches 
high  nodding  from  the  lofty  summit  of  her  head-dress, 
was  stricken  with  jealousy,  and  thenceforth  took  no  com¬ 
fort  in  life  until  her  undertaker  gave  his  promise  to 
send  her  two  taller  plumes  as  soon  as  one  of  his  hearses 
came  home  from  a  job. 

With  regard  to  decency,  as  we  understand  the  term, 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 


231 


it  did  not  exist.  Consider  the  anecdote  related  by  Han¬ 
nah  More,  bearing  upon  this  point.  In  her  old  age,  she 
had  a  curiosity  to  read  again  a  novel  which  had  been  a 
favorite  in  families  in  her  youth,  and  which  she  had  her¬ 
self  often  read  at  home  to  the  family  circle.  Upon  get¬ 
ting  the  book  she  was  utterly  amazed  and  confounded 
at  its  indecency :  at  eighty  years,  she  could  not  read  to 
herself  a  work  which  at  sixteen  she  had  read  aloud  to 
father,  mother,  and  friends. 

Dr.  Franklin’s  paper,  The  Pennsylvania  Gazette. ,  the 
best  paper  ever  published  in  the  Colonics,  and  among  the 
most  decent,  contains  fifty  things  which  no  newspaper 
now-a-days,  not  the  most  unscrupulous  of  all,  would  dare 
or  wish  to  publish.  Among  the  shorter  tales  of  Voltaire, 
there  are  several  which  he  wrote  at  the  request  of  ladies, 
to  be  used  by  them  in  liquidation  of  forfeits  incurred  in 
games.  These  tales  were  read  aloud,  by  or  for  the  ladies, 
to  the  whole  circle  at  the  chateau  or  palace  ;  oftener  palace 
than  chateau,  some  of  them  being  written  for  German 
princesses.  Those  tales  we  should  consider  quite  inde¬ 
cent,  all  of  them.  No  periodical  in  Europe  or  America 
would  publish  them.  The  same  author  used  to  lend  manu¬ 
script  cantos  of  his  “  Pucelle,”  a  poem  of  incredible 
freedom,  to  the  most  distinguished  ladies  in  Europe,  who 
regarded  the  loan  as  an  homage  to  their  taste  and  discre¬ 
tion,  and  sat  up  at  night  making  copies  for  preservation. 
He  read  that  poem  to  the  Queen  of  Prussia,  mother  of 
Frederick  the  Great ;  and  one  day,  upon  looking  up,  ho 
saw  the  queen’s  daughter  listening  on  the  sly.  The  queen, 
too,  saw  her  a  moment  after,  and  exchanged  meaning 
smiles  with  Voltaire,  but  did  not  send  her  away  ;  and  the 
reading  went  on  as  before,  the  flavor  of  the  jests  being 
more  keenly  relished  because  shared  by  virgin  ears. 

Women,  indeed,  were  rather  fonder  of  such  literature 
than  men,  and  for  an  obvious  reason.  Obscene  jests, 


232 


SOME  LADIE3  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 


indecent  tales,  and  all  that  constitutes  what  Miss  Wolls- 
tonecraft  styles  “  bodily  wit,”  are  the  natural  resource  of 
ignorant,  idle  minds  ;  and,  a  hundred  years  ago,  the  minds 
of  nearly  all  ladies  were  ignorant  and  idle.  I  assert, 
without  hesitation,  that  the  ordinary  intercourse  of  human 
beings  as  human  beings  is  more  decent,  more  dignified, 
mure  kindly  and  more  sincere,  than  it  was. 

For  two  or  three  months  one  summer,  I  lived  at  a  beach 
on  the  coast  of  Maine,  where,  in  all,  during  the  season, 
there  must  have  been  as  many  as  two  thousand  persons, 
of  all  sorts  and  conditions,  of  all  religions  and  nationali¬ 
ties.  I  can  almost  say  that  there  was  not  a  rude  or 
ungracious  act  done  by  one  of  them.  Nobody  was  stuck 
up ;  nobody  made  any  parade  of  wealth,  or  pretended 
to  any  superiority  on  account  of  his  family  or  occupation. 
At  the  same  time  proper  privacy  was  not  intruded  upon. 
Every  one  seemed  to  wish  well  to  others,  and  the  utmost 
friendliness  prevailed  at  all  times.  Cards  every  evening, 
but  no  gambling ;  dancing  every  evening,  but  all  over  at 
eleven  o’clock  ;  plenty  of  hilarity,  but  scarcely  any  drink¬ 
ing.  All  was  pleasant,  cheerful,  elegant,  decorous,  free. 
Warm  discussions  upon  politics  and  religion,  but  no  intol¬ 
erance  or  ill  temper.  I  say  with  the  boldness  arising 
from  long  research,  that  such  a  company,  gathered  for  a 
similar  purpose,  in  a  similar  place,  during  the  last  century, 
would  have  been  less  innocent,  less  decorous,  less  polite. 
There  would  have  been  high  play,  deep  drinking,  love 
intrigues,  and  no  meeting  of  rich  and  not  rich,  distin¬ 
guished  and  undistinguished,  on  terms  of  friendly  equality. 

Another  fact:  In  a  drawer  of  the  bowling  alley,  I 
found  one  day  a  Latin  dictionary,  a  Livy,  and  a  Vergil ; 
and  I  discovered,  a  few  days  after,  that  they  belonged  to 
the  boy  who  had  charge  of  the  alley.  He  was  preparing 
for  college !  When  no  one  was  playing,  out  came  his 
Vergil  from  the  drawer  ;  and  he  kept  at  it  till  the  next 


SOM 3  LADIES  OP  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 


233 


customer  strolled  in.  And  the  best  of  it  was,  that  no  one 
saw  anything  extraordinary  in  this.  If  became  to  a  pas¬ 
sage  he  could  not  translate,  he  would  bring  his  book  to 
the  piazza,  and  get  assistance  from  some  of  the  gentlemen 
there  who  were  learned  in  the  classics  of  antiquity ;  all 
of  which  seemed  quite  natural  and  ordinary. 

Then  as  to  chivalry — the  grand  politeness,  the  Sidney 
style, — supposed  by  some  to  be  extinct.  In  our  war, 
many  a  Sidney  served  in  the  ranks ;  one  act  of  one  of 
whom  was  this:  Twenty  men,  thirsty  and  wounded,  were 
waiting  on  a  hot  day,  after  a  battle  near  Chattanooga,  their 
turn  to  be  attended  to.  One  of  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Christian  Commission  came  up  at  length,  bearing  the 
priceless  treasure  of  a  pail  of  water  and  a  tin  cup.  He 
handed  the  first  cupful  to  the  soldier  who  seemed  most  to 
need  the  cooling,  cleansing  liquid ;  for  he  was  badly 
wounded  in  the  mouth,  from  which  blood  was  oozing. 

“  No,”  said  this  sublime  Sidney  of  the  ranks  :  “  I  must 
drink  last ;  for,  you  know,  I  shall  make  the  cup  bloody.” 

And  there  were  a  thousand  men  in  that  army  who 
would  have  done  the  same.  In  this  country  certainly,  and, 
I  think,  throughout  Christendom,  if  the  spirit  of  caste 
still  lives  in  vulgar  minds,  it  is  generally  recognized  as 
vulgarity  ;  it  hides  itself,  and  is  ashamed. 

“  Would  you  believe  it  ?  ”  said  Horace  Walpole,  “  when 
an  artist  is  patronized  now-a-days,  he  thinks  it  is  he  who 
confers  distinction !  ” 

The  courtly  old  pensioner  evidently  thought  that  this 
was  mere  insolence  and  absurdity.  This  man,  who  had 
lived  all  his  life  on  the  bounty  of  the  English  people — on 
an  unearned  pension  of  four  thousand  pounds  a  year,  pro¬ 
cured  for  him  by  his  father,  Sir  Robert, — had  not  the 
slightest  doubt  of  his  intrinsic  superiority  to  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  Dr.  Johnson,  Fanny  Burney,  Garrick, or  Handel ! 
Nor  had  any  other  man  of  his  erder  in  Europe.  Some 


234 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 


one  was  congratulating  the  great  French  actor,  Leakin, 
upon  the  glory  and  the  money  which  he  had  gained  dur¬ 
ing  a  prosperous  season. 

“  As  to  money,”  said  he,  “  we  do  not  get  as  much  as 
people  think.  My  income,  at  the  most,  is  only  ten  01 
twelve  thousand  francs  a  year.” 

“  What !  ”  cried  a  young  nobleman,  “  a  vile  actor  not 
content  with  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year ;  while  I  who 
am  in  the  king’s  service,  who  sleep  upon  a  cannon,  and 
shed  my  blood  for  my  country, — I  am  only  too  happy  to 
get  a  thousand  francs  !  ” 

The  actor,  inwardly  boiling  with  fury,  quietly  said  : 

“  Do  you  count  it  for  nothing  that  you  dare  to  speak  to 
to  me  in  that  manner  ?  ” 

Paris,  it  is  said,  marveled  at  the  audacity  of  the  vet¬ 
eran  actor,  not  at  all  at  the  insolence  of  the  boy  lieutenant. 
All  that,  let  us  hope,  is  over  forever,,  We  may  boast, 
too,  that  an  approach  has  been  made  to  a  substantial 
equality  of  human  conditions  and  opportunities.  Bishop 
Kip  tells  us,  in  a  very  agreeable  article,  how  tranquil, 
dignified,  and  captivating  New  York  society  was  in  the 
olden  time.  Very  well.  But  he  gives  us  to  understand 
in  the  same  article,  that  to  maintain  one  of  those  refined, 
dignified  families,  required  an  estate  ten  or  fifteen  miles 
square ;  and  there  were  only  about  fifty  of  them  in  the 
whole  vast  Province  of  New  York.  We  are  also  reminded, 
now  and  then,  of  the  first  families  of  Virginia,  and  the 
grand  life  they  lived  ;  but  it  took  a  plantation  of  five 
thousand  acres,  five  hundred  slaves,  and  fifty  house  ser 
vants,  to  keep  up  one  establishment.  We  must  learn  to 
live  beautifully  at  a  much  cheaper  rate  than  that;  and  I 
feel  assured  that  we  are  learning  it. 

I  went  over  a  clock-factory,  in  Connecticut,  some  time 
ago — a  spacious  and  handsome  edifice,  filled  with  intelli¬ 
gent,  polite  men  and  women  doing  clean,  inviting  work; 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 


235 


the  water-wheel  performing  all  that  was  hard  and  labori¬ 
ous.  The  only  important  difference  I  could  discover 
between  the  proprietor  and  the  workmen  was,  that  the 
men  came  to  work  every  morning  at  seven,  and  Hie  owner 
at  half-past  six.  All  of  them,  in  fact,  came  an  hour  too 
soon  and  stayed  an  hour  too  late.  The  workmen  lived  in 
pretty  cottages — their  own,  if  they  choose  to  buy, — with 
good,  large  gardens  around  them.  Their  children  went 
to  the  same  school — common  school  and  high  school — as 
his  children,  and  had  access  to  the  same  library  and 
lyceum.  All  lived  in  the  same  sweet,  umbrageous  village, 
and  looked  out  upon  the  same  circle  of  wood-crowncd 
mountains  ;  nor  did  there  appear  to  be  in  the  place  a  mind 
small  enough  to  hold  the  barbaric  idea,  that  one  man 
couid  be  higher  than  another  because  he  has  more  money, 
or  earns  his  livelihood  by  a  different  kind  of  work. 

Mr.  Emerson,  in  speaking  of  an  improvident  marriage, 
says:  “  Millenium  has  come  and  no  groceries.”  I  said 
to  myself,  as  I  strolled  about  this  village,  “Here  is  a  fore¬ 
taste  of  millenium,  and  groceries  in  abundance.  Here 
are  ladies  and  gentlemen,  not  of  the  old  school,  who  are 
living  the  polite  and  intelligent  life  upon  eight  and  twelve 
dollars  a  week.” 

Ladies  of  the  present  day  themselves  lament  that  they 
should  be  so  little  able  to  resist  the  tyranny  of  fashion. 
Ladies  of  the  old  school  were  more  submissive  to  fashion 
than  they,  without  lamenting  it.  Let  me  say  that,  of  all 
tyrannies,  the  most  ancient  and  the  most  universal  is  that 
of  fashion.  It  began  with  the  beginning  of  civilization, 
and  it  is  precisely  in  the  most  civilized  nations  that  its 
control  extends  to  the  greatest  variety  of  details.  Phi¬ 
losophers  laugh  at  it ;  but  show  me,  if  you  can,  a  phi¬ 
losopher  who  is  philosopher  enough  to  wear  in  broad  day¬ 
light  his  grandfather’s  Sunday  hat !  Is  it  not  a  good 
hat  ?  It  is  an  excellent  hat.  The  soft  and  silken  fur  of 


236  SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

the  beaver  covers  it ;  it  is  lined  with  the  finest  leather ; 
it  glistens  in  the  sun  with  a  resplendent  gloss ;  it  is  no 
uglier  in  form  than  the  stove-pipe  of  to-day ;  it  has  all 
the  properties  of  a  good  covering  for  the  head.  The 
original  proprietor  wore  it  with  pride,  and  cherished  it 
with  care  in  a  dust-tight  bandbox,  in  which  it  has  reposed 
unharmed  for  fifty  years.  What  is  the  matter  with  this 
superior  liat,  that  a  man  capable  of  marching  up  to  the 
cannon’s  mouth  shrinks  with  dismay  from  wearing  it  a 
mile  on  a  fine  afternoon  in  the  street  of  his  native  city  ? 

The  hat  is  simply  out  of  fashion ;  nothing  more.  The 
present  owner  knows  that,  if  he  were  to  wear  it,  his 
friends  would  take  him  fora  madman,  his  creditors  would 
fear  for  his  solvency,  and  the  bovs  would  set  him  down  as 
a  quack  doctor.  So  rooted,  so  unconquerable  in  this 
tyranny,  which  many  of  us  deride,  and  all  of  us  obey  ! 

I  said  it  is  the  oldest  of  our  tyrants.  In  Egyptian 
tombs,  which  were  ancient  when  Antony  wooed  Cleopatra, 
there  have  been  found  many  evidences  that  Egyptian 
ladies  were  as  assiduous  devotees  of  fashion  as  the  fondest 
inspector  of  fashion-plates  can  now  be.  In  the  British 
Museum  you  may  inspect  the  implements  of  Egyptian 
fashion  conveniently  displayed.  There  are  neat  little 
bottles  made  to  hold  the  coloring  matter  used  by  the 
ladies  of  Egypt  for  painting  their  cheeks  and  eyebrows. 
Some  of  these  vessels  have  four  or  five  cells  or  compart¬ 
ments,  each  of  which  contained  liquid  of  a  different 
shade  for  different  portions  of  the  face.  These  were 
applied  with  a  kind  of  long  pin  or  bodkin,  several  of 
which  have  been  brought  to  this  country. 

Professor  W.  IT.  Flower,  a  distinguished  member  of 
che  Royal  Society  of  London,  has  recently  published  a 
a  little  book  called  “  Fashion  in  Deformity,”  in  which  he 
mentions  several  ways  in  which  ladies  torment,  as  well 
as  deform  themselves,  in  obedience  to  the  tyranny  of 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 


237 


fashion.  He  passes  over  Egypt ;  perhaps  because  of  the 
superabundance  of  material  illustrating  his  subject  which 
the  Egyptian  collections  present  to  view.  If  he  had  con¬ 
fined  his  work  to  such  a  testimony  as  the  Egyptian  tombs 
have  yielded,  he  could  have  made  a  volume  ten  times  the 
size  of  the  modest  discourse  with  which  he  has  been  so 
good  as  to  favor  us.  One  of  the  absurd  Egyptian  lashions 
appears  to  have  been  of  some  service.  Herodotus  tells 
us  that,  when  he  was  on  his  travels,  he  once  walked  over 
a  battle-field  where  the  Egyptians  and  the  Persians  had 
fought  some  years  before. 

“  I  observed,”  he  says,  “  that  the  skulls  of  the  Persians 
were  so  soft  that  you  could  perforate  them  with  a  small 
pebble,  while  those  of  the  Egyptians  were  so  strong  that 
with  difficulty  you  could  break  them  with  a  large  stone.” 

Upon  inquiring  into  the  cause  of  this,  he  was  informed 
that  it  was  owing  to  the  different  head  fashions  of  Egypt 
and  Persia.  In  Egypt  it  was  the  fashion  for  mothers  to 
shave  the  heads  even  of  young  children,  leaving  only  a 
lock  or  two  in  front,  behind,  and  one  on  each  side ;  and 
while  thus  shorn  they  were  allowed  to  go  out  into  the  sun 
without  hats.  The  Persians,  on  the  contrary,  wore  their 
hair  long,  and  protected  themselves  from  the  sun  by  soft 
caps.  We  learn  also  from  this  passage  in  Herodotus, 
that  it  was  not  the  fashion  in  his  time  to  bury  the  dead 
after  a  battle. 

All  the  ancient  civilized  races  took  great  liberties  with 
their  hair,  as  well  as  with  the  hair  of  other  people. 
Persons  of  rank  in  Egypt,  after  shaving  off  their  own 
hair,  wore  wigs  to  distinguish  them  from  bare-headed 
peasants.  A  still  more  inconvenient  fashion  of  Egyptian 
dandies  was  the  wearing  of  false  beards  upon  the  chin, 
composed  of  plaited  hair,  and  varying  in  length  according 
to  the  rank  of  the  wearer.  We  find  that,  in  all  the 
ancient  civilizations,  fashion  selected  similar  objects  upon 


238 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 


which  to  exercise  its  authority.  Sir  Gardner  Wilkinson 
mentions  that  there  was  a  fashion  in  dogs  in  ancient 
Egypt,  which  changed  from  time  to  time.  Some  breeds 
were  fashionable  on  account  of  their  extreme  ugliness, 
others  for  their  beauty  or  size.  The  favorite  dog  of  a 
popular  princess  would  set  the  fashion  in  dogs  for  a  long 
time,  as  it  does  in  more  modern  days.  As  favorite  dogs 
were  frequently  mummied,  and  placed  in  the  tombs  of 
their  owners,  we  are  able  to  trace  several  changes  of 
fashion  in  these  creatures. 

Professor  Flower  could  have  drawn  some  apt  illustra¬ 
tions  from  the  burdensome  head  dresses  found  in  ancient 
tombs.  Some  of  these  were  not  merely  burdensome,  but 
hideous,  the  hair  being  extended  in  such  a  way  as  to  make 
the  head  four  or  five  times  larger  than  nature  made  it. 

It  were  well  if  human  beings  would  be  satisfied  with 
self-torment  for  fashion’s  sake.  On  almost  any  afternoon 
you  may  see  in  Broadway  terriers  bred  so  small  that  a 
full  grown  dog  does  not  weigh  much  more  than  a  large  rat. 
This  custom  of  changing  the  natural  form  and  size  of 
animals  for  fashion’s  sake  is  both  ancient  and  wide¬ 
spread.  The  Hottentots  twist  the  horns  of  their  cattle  into 
various  fantastic  shapes  while  the  horns  are  young  and 
flexible,  and  in  some  parts  of  Africa  the  horns  of  sheep 
are  made  to  grow  in  several  points  by  splitting  the  horn 
with  a  knife  when  it  begins  to  grow.  Among  ourselves, 
too,  horses  taii3  are  still  occasionally  docked  for  old 
fashion’s  sake,  and  Professor  Flower  remarks  that  the 
ancient  custom  of  cropping  the  ears  of  horses  is  not  yet 
extinct  in  England. 

Among  savages  the  inodes  of  fashionable  deformity  are 
more  numerous  than  with  civilized  people,  though  they 
are  less  injurious.  Some  tribes  color  their  nails  red  or 
black.  Tattooing  the  skin  in  an  almost  universal  practice. 
Some  savages  blacken  their  teeth  ;  others  pull  the  mouth 


SOME  LADIES  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 


239 


all  out  of  shape  with  heavy  pendents  ;  others  make  holes 
in  their  ears,  and  continue  to  stretch  them,  until  a  man 
can  pass  his  arms  through  his  ears.  It  is  a  strange  thing 
that  the  practice  of  flattening  the  head,  in  use  among  our 
Flathead  Indians,  does  not  appear  to  injure  the  brain. 
White  men  who  have  resided  in  that  tribe  report  that  any 
mother  who  should  fail  to  flatten  the  heads  of  her  children 
into  the  fashionable  shape,  would  be  thought  a  very 
indolent  and  unkind  parent,  since  it  would  subject  her 
children  to  the  unsparing  ridicule  of  their  playmates. 
Nor  could  the  girls  ever  hope  for  marriage,  nor  the  boys 
aspire  to  have  any  influence  in  the  tribe. 

The  two  worst  fashions  in  deformity,  according  to  Pro¬ 
fessor  Flower,  arc  cramping  the  feet  and  compressing  the 
body.  The  sufferings  undergone  by  Chinese  girls,  in 
reducing  their  feet  to  the  fashionable  size,  are  so  severe 
and  long  continued  as  to  excite  our  wonder  even  more 
than  our  pity.  The  learned  professor  gives  a  pair  of 
pictures  to  show  what  ladies  do  with  themselves  when 
they  try  to  conform  to  the  fashion  of  half-yard  waist. 
One  presents  to  us  the  statue  of  the  Venus  of  Milo  in  all 
the  majestic  amplitude  of  nature.  The  other  exhibits 
the  Paris  waist  of  May,  1880,  a  silly,  trivial,  nipped  figure 
of  the  fashionable  number  of  inches  in  circuit,  an  object 
of  equal  horror  to  the  anatomist  and  to  the  artist. 

We  moderns,  however,  have  one  comfort.  We  have 
evolved  the  fashion  of  not  following  the  fashion.  Thus, 
the  lat-e  Lord  Palmerston  never  would  wear  boots  which 
did  not  give  to  each  of  his  toes  all  its  natural  rights,  and 
so  he  set  the  fashion  of  not  wearing  the  fashionable  boot. 
In  every  American  community  there  are  now  to  be  found 
ladies  of  the  new  school,  who,  if  they  follow  the  fashion 
at  all,  follow  it  at  a  rational  distance,  and  know  how  to 
preserve  their  health  and  freedom  without  singularity. 
It  is  no  longer  difficult  to  follow  the  fashion  of  following 

the  fashion, as  Chesterfield  advised,  “  three  paces  behind.” 

1A 


TORU  DUTT. 


ONE  day  in  August,  1876,  the  English  poet  and  critic, 
Mr.  Edmund  W.  Gossc,  was  lingering  in  the  office 
of  the  London  “  Examiner  ”  mourning  over  the  dullness 
of  the  book-trade  at  that  season,  and  complaining  that 
the  publishers  sent  him  no  books  worth  reviewing. 
While  he  was  still  talking  upon  this  subject  to  his  friend, 
Mr.  Minto,  the  editor  of  the  paper,  the  postman  arrived, 
bringing  a  meager  little  packet,  marked  with  an  unfamiliar 
Indian  postmark.  Upon  being  opened  it  proved  to  con¬ 
tain  a  small  pamphlet,  entitled,  “  A  Sheaf  Gleaned  in 
French  Fields,  by  Toru  Dutt,”  which  Mr.  Minto  thrust 
hastily  into  the  reluctant  hands  of  Mr.  Gosse,  exclaiming 
as  he  did  so :  “  There,  see  whether  you  can’t  make  some¬ 
thing  out  of  that.” 

The  critic  did  not  expect  to  make  anything  of  it.  It 
was  a  thin,  shabby, ugly  little  book,  of  about  two  hundred 
pages,  bound  in  orange  color,  unattractive  in  type,  and 
without  preface  or  introduction,  its  oddly  printed  title- 
page  merely  conveying  the  information  that  it  was  pub¬ 
lished  at  Bhowanipore,  at  the  Saptahiksambad  Press. 
He  took  it,  however,  and  the  first  thing  he  found  in  it 
was  a  translation  of  A  Morning  Serenade,  by  Victor 
Hugo. 

“  What  was  my  surprise  and  almost  rapture,”  he  says 
in  relating  the  incident,  “  to  open  at  such  verse  as  this : 

“  Still  barred  thy  doors !  The  far  east  glows, 

The  morning  wind  blows  fresh  and  free. 

Should  not  the  hour  that  wakes  the  rose 
Awaken  also  thee  ? 


240 


/,// 


TORU  DUTT  AND  SISTER. 


TORU  DUTT. 


243 

“All  look  for  thee,  Love,  Light,  and  Song; 

Light  in  the  sky  deep  red  above, 

Song,  in  the  lark  of  pinions  strong, 

And  in  my  heart,  true  Love. 

“Apart,  we  miss  our  nature’s  goal, 

Why  strive  to  cheat  our  destinies? 

Was  not  my  love  made  for  thy  soul  ? 

Thy  beauty  for  mine  eyes  ? 

No  longer  sleep, 

Oh,  listen  now  1 
1  wait  and  weep, 

But  where  art  thou  ?  ” 

u  "When  poetry  is  as  good  as  this,”  continues  Mr.  Gossc, 
it  does  not  much  matter  whether  Rouveyre  prints  it  upon 
Whatman  paper,  or  whether  it  steals  to  light  in  blurred 
type  from  some  press  in  Bhowaniporc.” 

The  volume  which  thus  pleasantly  surprised  an  accom¬ 
plished  reviewer  was  the  work  of  a  young  Hindu  girl, 
then  only  twenty  years  of  age.  Toru  Dutt  was  the 
youngest  child  of  Govin  Clnmder  Dutt,  a  retired  Indian 
officer  of  high  caste.  She  was  born  in  Calcutta  on  the 
fourth  of  March,  1856,  and,  with  the  exception  of  a  year’s 
visit  to  Bombay,  her  childhood,  and  that  of  her  elder  sister 
Aru,  was  passed  at  her  father’s  garden-house  in  the  city 
of  her  birth.  Her  parents,  whom  she  dearly  loved,  were 
devout  Christians,  and  brought  her  up  to  share  their  faith. 
She  was  well  acquainted,  however,  with  all  the  ancient 
songs  and  legends  of  her  own  people,  and  always  retained 
for  them  a  tenderness  of  which  she  sometimes  speaks 
half  apologetically,  while  at  other  times  she  grows  warm 
in  their  praise.  Often  her  mother,  herself,  and  Aru, — 
for  both  sisters  possessed  very  clear,  and  well-trained 
contralto  voices — would  sing  these  strange  old  ballads  in 
the  evening,  when  the  sudden  descent  of  the  tropic  night 
brought  welcome  dusk  and  coolness  after  the  glare  and 
heat  of  an  Indian  day. 


244 


TORU  DUTT. 


The  two  sisters  were  devoted  companions.  Torn,  the 
younger  by  eighteen  months,  always  unconsciously  took 
the  lead  both  in  studies  and  amusements,  although,  as 
their  father  records,  there  was  no  assumption  of  superi¬ 
ority  on  her  part.  “  It  seemed  perfectly  natural  to  Aru,” 
he  says,  “  to  fall  into  the  background  in  the  presence  of 
her  sister.  The  love  between  them  was  always  perfect.” 

They  remained  until  1869  in  the  happy  retirement  of 
their  home,  studying  and  learning  how  to  perform  house¬ 
hold  tasks,  none  of  which  they  considered  too  mean  for 
them.  Much  of  their  time  was  spent  in  the  garden,  of 
which  no  description  could  be  given  so  clear  or  so  beauti¬ 
ful  as  Toru’s  own,  written  a  few  years  later : 

“A  sea  of  foliage  girds  our  garden  round, 

But  not  a  sea  of  dull,  unvaried  green, 

Sharp  contrasts  of  all  colors  here  are  seen; 

The  light-green,  graceful  tamarinds  abound 
Amid  the  mangoe  clumps  of  green  profound. 

And  palms  arise,  like  pillars  gray,  between; 

And  o’er  the  quiet  pools  the  sccmuls  lean, 

Red, — red,  and  startling  like  the  trumpet’s  sound. 

But  nothing  can  be  lovelier  than  the  ranges 
Of  bamboos  to  the  eastward,  ■when  the  moon 
Looks  through  their  gaps,  and  the  white  lotus  changes 
Into  a  cup  of  silver.  One  might  swoon 

Drunken  with  beauty  then,  or  gaze  and  gaze 
On  a  primeval  Eden,  in  amaze.” 

In  November,  1869,  the  two  girls  went  to  Europe,  and 
visited  France,  Italy,  and  England.  In  France  they  were 
sent  to  school  for  the  only  time  in  their  lives,  spending  a 
few  months  at  a  French  pension.  It  must  have  been 
chiefly  during  this  period  that  Toru  gained  her  marvel¬ 
ous  intimacy  with  the  French  language.  English  she 
«poke  and  wrote  well — even  wonderfully  well  considering 
her  age  and  nationality — yet  an  occasional  lapse  betrays 
the  foreigner.  Her  French,  on  the  contrary,  fluent,  grace- 


TORU  DUTT. 


245 


ful,  and  idiomatic,  seems  not  the  toilfully  acquired 
accompli,  anenj  of  an  educated  Hindu,  but  the  natural 
speech  of  a  Parisian  lady.  A  brief  sample,  taken  almost 
at  random,  will  prove  this.  It  is  a  description  of  the 
hero  in  her  romance  called  Le  Journal  de  Mademoiselle 
d’Arvers. 

“  II  est  beau  en  effet.  Sa  taille  est  haute,  mais  quel- 
quesuns  la  trouveraient  mince ;  sa  chevelure  noire  est 
boucl^e  ct  tombe  jusqu’a  la  nuque ;  ses  yeux  noirs  sont 
profonds  et  bien  fendus ;  le  front  est  noble  ;  la  Idvre 
supdrieure,  couvertc  par  une  moustache  naissante  ct  noire, 
est  parfaitement  model^e ;  son  menton  a  quelque  chose  de 
severe ;  son  teint  est  d’un  blanc  presque  f&ninin,  ce  qui 
ddnote  sa  haute  naissance.” 

She  always  loved  France.  Her  first  book,  as  we  see, 
was  a  volume  of  translations  from  the  French ;  her  one 
long  prose  work  was  composed  in  French ;  the  first 
article  she  ever  published  was  a  critical  esssay  upon  a 
French  author ;  and  two  of  her  most  stirring  English 
poems  treat  of  French  subjects — one,  an  ode  written  in 
1870  during  the  dark  days  of  the  Franeo-Prussian  War, 
the  second,  lines  inscribed  on  the  fly-leaf  of  Erckmann- 
Chatrian’s  novel  Madame  Thdrese.  The  latter  concludes 
thus : 

I  read  the  story,  and  my  heart  beats  fast  I 
Well  might  all  Europe  quail  before  thee,  France, 

Battling  against  oppression !  Years  have  passed, 

Yet  of  that  time  men  speak  with  moistened  glance. 
Ya-nu-pieds !  When  rose  high  your  Marseillaise 
Mar.  knew  his  rights  to  earth’s  remotest  bound 
And  tyrants  trembled.  Yours  alone  the  praise! 

Ah,  had  a  Washington  but  then  been  found! 

On  leaving  France  the  sisters  went  to  England,  where 
they  attended  the  lectures  for  women  at  Cambridge,  and 
in  1873  they  returned  to  their  beloved  home  in  Calcutta, 


246 


TORU  DUTT. 


where  tlie  four  remaining  years  of  Toru’s  life  were  passed. 
A  photograph  taken  before  their  departure  shows  both 
girls  to  have  been  pleasing  and  refined  in  appearance: 
while  Toru’s  rather  round  face  with  its  bronze  skin, 
brilliant  eyes,  and  shading  mass  of  loose  hair,  might  be 
termed  pretty,  did  we  not  prefer  to  call  it  expressive, 
since  its  alertness  and  intelligence  possess  a  stronger 
charm  than  its  beauty. 

Toru’s  career  as  an  author  dated  from  her  return  to 
India.  Equipped  already  with  a  stock  of  knowledge 
which,  as  Mr.  Gosse  well  says,  “  would  have  sufficed  to 
make  an  English  or  French  girl  seem  learned,  but  which 
in  her  case  was  simply  miraculous,”  she  could  not  rest 
content  with  these  acquirements,  but  devoted  herself 
zealously  to  the  study  of  Sanskrit,  under  her  father’s 
tuition ;  a  pursuit  which  she  continued  until,  in  con¬ 
sideration  of  her  failing  health,  he  required  her  to  give  it 
up.  Her  first  publication,  which  appeared  in  the  Bengal 
Magazine  when  she  was  but  eighteen  years  of  age,  was 
an  essay  upon  the  French  poet  Leconte  de  Lisle,  with 
whose  somewhat  austere  compositions  she  had  much 
sympathy.  This  was  soon  followed  by  another  upon 
Josdpliin  Soulary,  both  being  illustrated  by  translations 
into  English  verse. 

In  July,  1874,  her  sister  Aru  died  at  the  age  of  twenty, 
and  in  her  Torn  lost  a  faithful  helper  and  friend.  It  had 
been  their  cherished  project  to  publish  an  anonymous 
novel  which  Toru  was  to  writ 3  and  Aru,  who  possessed  a 
striking  talent  for  design,  was  to  illustrate.  Toru  began 
the  novel — Le  Journal  do  Mademoiselle  d’Arvers — before 
leaving  Europe,  but  Aru  died  without  having  seen  a  page 
of  it,  and  Toru  herself  was  in  her  grave  when  the  com¬ 
pleted  manuscript  was  found  among  her  papers  by  her 
father  and  given  to  the  public. 

The  “  Sheaf  Gleaned  in  French  Fields  ”  appeared,  as 


TORU  DUTT. 


247 


we  have  stated,  in  187G.  This  wonderful  book  of  trans- 
lations,  made  by  a  young  girl  in  India,  from  one  foreign 
language  into  another,  found  but  two  reviewers  in  all 
Europe.  One  of  these  was  the  French  poet  and  novelist, 
Andrd  Theuriet,  who  was  himself  represented  in  its  pages 
by  one  of  her  most  successful  translations,  and  who  gave 
it  just  and  discriminating  praise  in  the  Revue  de  Deux 
Mondes.  The  other  was  the  gentleman  who  had  so 
unwillingly  received  it  in  the  office  of  the  London 
Examiner.  Mr.  Gosse,  in  the  memoir  with  which  he 
afterwards  prefaced  one  of  Toru’s  works,  claims  with 
sympathetic  pride  that  he  was  “  a  little  earlier  still  in 
sounding  the  only  note  of  welcome  which  reached  the 
dying  poetess  from  England.” 

The  dying  poetess  !  Toru,  never  strong,  and  exhausted 
by  the  continuous  strain  of  her  literary  labors,  was  soon 
to  follow  the  sister  whom  she  so  deeply  mourned.  Her 
letters  to  her  friend,  Mile.  Clarisse  Bader,  show  us  very 
clearly  the  beginning  of  the  end.  Mile.  Bader  was  the 
author  of  a  French  work  entitled,  “  Woman  in  Ancient 
India,”  which  Toru  desired  to  translate  into  English. 
Before  doing  so,  however,  she  wrote  to  ask  permission  of 
the  author.  She  received  a  most  kind  and  gracious  reply. 

“  Dear  Mademoiselle,”  wrote  Mile.  Bader,  “  What !  It 
is  a  descendant  of  my  dear  Indian  heroines  who  desires 
to  translate  the  work  I  have  devoted  to  the  ancient  Aryan 
women  of  the  Peninsula  of  the  Ganges !  Such  a  wish, 
emanating  from  such  a  source,  touches  me  too  deeply  for 
me  not  to  listen  to  it.  Translate,  then,  Woman  in  Ancient 
India,  Mademoiselle;  I  authorize  you  with  all  my  heart 
to  do  so;  and  with  all  my  most  sympathetic  desires  I 
invoke  the  success  of  your  enterprise.  .  .  .  When 

you  have  published  in  India  your  translation  of  Woman 
in  Ancient  India,  I  should  be  very  grateful  if  you  would 
kindly  send  two  copies  of  vour  version.  I  should  also  be 


248 


TORY  DUTT. 


very  happy  to  receive  your  photograph  if  you  still  possess 
one.” 

Toru’s  reply,  dated  Calcutta,  March  18,  1877,  is  as 
follows : 

“  Dear  Mademoiselle,  I  thank  you  very  sincerely  for 
your  kind  authorization  to  translate  ‘  Woman  in  Ancient 
India’  and  also  for  your  kind  and  sympathetic  letter, 
which  has  given  me  the  keenest  pleasure. 

“  I  deeply  lament  not  to  have  been  able  to  begin  the 
translation  yet,  but  my  constitution  is  not  very  strong ; 
more  than  two  years  ago  I  contracted  an  obstinate  cough 
which  never  leaves  me.  Nevertheless,  I  hope  soon  to  set 
to  work. 

“  I  cannot  express,  Mademoiselle,  how  much  your 
affection  for  my  country  and  my  countrywomen  touches 
me,  for  both  your  letter  and  your  book  sufficiently  testify 
that  you  do  love  them ;  and  I  am  proud  to  be  able  to  say 
that  the  heroines  of  our  great  epics  are  worthy  of  all 
honor  and  all  love.  Is  there  any  heroine  more  touching, 
more  loveable,  than  Sita  ?  I  do  not  believe  there  is. 
When,  in  the  evening,  I  hear  my  mother  sing  the  old 
songs  of  our  country  I  almost  always  shed  tears.  Sita’s 
lament  when,  banished  for  the  second  time,  she  wanders 
alone  in  the  vast  forest  with  terror  and  despair  in  her 
soul,  is  so  pathetic  that  I  think  there  is  no  one  who  could 
hear  it  without  crying.  I  enclose  for  you  two  little  trans¬ 
lations  from  that  beautiful  old  language,  the  Sanskrit. 
Unfortunately,  I  was  obliged  to  cease  my  translations 
from  the  Sanskrit  six  months  ago.  My  health  does  not 
permit  me  to  continue  them.  I  send  you  also  my  portrait 
and  that  of  my  sister.  In  the  photograph  she  is  repre¬ 
sented  as  seated.  She  was  so  sweet  and  so  good !  The 
photograph  dates  from  four  years  ago,  when  I  was 
seventeen  and  she  scarcely  nineteen.  I  too,  Mademoiselle, 
shall  be  grateful,  if  you  will  kindly  send  me  your  photo¬ 
graph.  I  will  keep  it  as  one  of  my  greatest  treasures. 


TOrtU  DUTT. 


249 


“I  must  pause  here;  I  will  not  further  intrude  upon 
your  time.  Like  M.  Lefevre-Dcumier,  I  must  say : 

“Farewell  then,  dear  friend  whom  I  have  not  known,” 

“For,  Mademoiselle,  I  count  you  among  my  friends  and 
among  my  best  friends,  although  I  have  not  seen  you. 

“  Believe,  Mademoiselle,  the  renewed  assurance  of  my 
friendship,  Toru  Dutt.” 

From  a  postscript  we  learn  that  she  had  expected  to 
visit  Europe  for  her  health,  and  she  expresses  her  hope 
of  soon  meeting  her  unknown  friend.  In  April,  however, 
she  writes  again,  saying  that  she  had  been  very  ill  for  a 
fortnight,  and  that  this  plan  had  been  abandoned.  She 
asked  Mile.  Bader  to  write  to  her  at  her  old  address  — 
“your  letter  and  your  portrait  will  do  me  good.”  It  is 
pleasant  to  think  how  she  must  have  enjoyed  the  cheering 
and  appreciative  letter  which  she  received  in  reply.  It 
enclosed  the  portrait,  too,  although  Mile.  Bader  declares 
that  her  photographs  were  always  each  uglier  than  the 
last,  and  that  it  was  a  great  piece  of  self-sacrifice  for  her 
to  send  one  to  anybody  who  had  never  seen  her. 

Toru  answers  briefly  but  warmly,  thanking  her  friend 
for  her  kindness  and  excusing  herself  from  writing  more 
at  length  on  the  ground  that  she  has  been  suffering  four 
months  from  fever,  and  is  still  too  weak  to  go  from  her 
own  room  to  the  next  without  feeling  extreme  fatigue. 
One  more  letter  from  Mile.  Bader,  even  more  cordial  and 
affectionate  than  the  last,  closes  the  correspondence.  It 
is  full  of  sympathy  and  encouragement.  She  exclaims 
with  surprise  that  Toru,  in  her  photograph  apparently 
the  picture  of  health,  should  have  been  so  ill. 

“  But  now,”  she  adds,  “  you  have  wholly  recovered, 
have  you  not?  And,  at  the  time  of  the  Exposition,  you 
will  come  to  our  sweet  land  of  France,  whose  mild  breezes 
will  do  you  good — you,  who  have  suffered  from  your 


250 


TORU  DUTT. 


burning  climate.  Friendly  hearts  await  you  with  joyous 
hope.  My  parents  and  myself  love  you  much — without 
having  ever  seen  you,  but  your  letters  and  your  works 
have  revealed  to  us  the  goodness  of  your  heart,  the  candor 
of  your  soul.  Come,  then,  my  amiable  friend,  to  seal 
with  your  presence  an  affection  which  is  already  yours.” 

The  two  friends  never  met;  the  letter  was  never 
answered,  never  received.  It  was  dated  September  11, 
1877.  Toru  Dutt  died  August  30th  of  the  same  year, 
aged  twenty-one  years,  six  months,  and  twenty-six  days. 
She  had  breathed  her  last  before  the  letter  was  even 
written.  Her  last  words  were,  “  It  is  only  the  physical 
pain  that  makes  me  cry.” 

She  died  almost  unknown  to  fame.  A  few  men  in  France 
and  England  who  had  made  the  Orient  a  special  study, 
had  noted  her  works  and  praised  them  as  the  achievement 
of  a  Hindu  genius ;  a  still  smaller  number  had  read  them 
and  loved  them  for  their  poetry  alone.  But,  from  the  day 
of  her  death  her  reputation  grew,  and  a  second  edition  of 
the  “  Sheaf  Gleaned  in  French  Fields”  was  soon  prepared, 
with  a  brief  preface  by  her  father.  This  book  was,  it 
must  be  remembered,  the  only  one  of  hers  published  in 
her  lifetime;  upon  this  alone  it  was  at  first  thought  that 
her  fame  must  rest.  Even  had  this  been  the  case,  her 
place  in  literature  should  have  been  secure.  The  trans¬ 
lations  vary ;  some  are  almost  flawless  gems  of  English, 
such  as  the  “Serenade”  already  given,  or  this  version  of 
a  poem  by  Evariste  de  Parny,  on  the  “Death  of  a  Young 
Girl”: 

“Though  childhood’s  days  were  past  and  gone 
More  innocent  no  child  could  be; 

Though  grace  in  every  feature  shone, 

Her  maiden  heart  was  fancy  free. 

“A  few  more  months,  or  haply  days 

And  Love  would  blossom  — so  we  thought 
As  lifts  in  April’s  genial  rays 

The  rose  its  clusters  richly  wrought. 


TORU  DUTT. 


251 


“But  God  had  destined  otherwise, 

And  so  she  gently  fell  asleep, 

A  creature  of  the  starry  skies 
Too  lovely  for  the  earth  to  keep. 

“She  died  in  earliest  womanhood; 

Thus  dies,  and  leaves  behind  no  trace, 

A  bird’s  song  in  a  leafy  wood  — 

Thus  melts  a  sweet  smile  from  a  face.” 

At  other  times  she  is  not  so  fortunate.  Sometimes  a 
|  oem  intended  to  be  picturesque  or  impressive  is  given  a 
lf-ally  comical  turn  by  the  introduction  of  some  unex¬ 
pected  little  colloquial  phrase,  used  by  Toru  -with  perfect 
good  faith  as  to  its  suitability.  Take,  for  example,  her 
translation  of  Victor  Hugo’s  magnificent  piece  upon  the 
‘‘Forts  of  Paris”  in»which  the  mood  of  the  English  reader 
is  undesirably  affected  by  the  statement  that 

“At  a  respectful  distance  keep  the  forts, 

A  multitude,  a  populace,  of  monstrous  guns, 

That  in  the  far„horizon  wolf-like  prowl.” 

The  word  “cannon-wagon,”  too,  docs  not  lend  itself 
gracefully  to  blank  verse. 

“  The  sinister  cannon-wagons  darkly  grouped  ” 

were  doubtless  awe-inspiring  objects,  but  the  effect  upon 
the  reader  is  not  wholly  the  one  intended.  Yet  in  the 
same  piece  occur  these  finely  resonant  lines  descriptive 
of  cannon: 

‘  ‘  Far  stretching  out 
Their  neckt.  I '  bronze  around  the  wall  immense, 

They  rest  awake  while  peacefully  we  sleep, 

And  in  their  hoarse  lungs  latent  thunders  growl 
Low  premoVtions.  ” 

The  notes  appended  to  the  book  are  almost  as  interest¬ 
ing,  in  their  curious  display  of  unlooked-for  knowledge  and 
equally  unlooked-for  ignorance,  as  the  work  itself.  It  is 
plain  that  she  is  acquainted  with  our  American  authors. 


252 


TORU  DUTT 


In  a  note  upon  Charles  Noclier  she  remarks  that  his 
prose  stories  are  charming  and  remind  her  of  Washington 
Irving.  In  another  upon  .Baudelaire,  she  detects  in  one 
of  his  poems  a  plagiarism  from  Longfellow  —  a  literal 
translation  of  a  verse  from  the  “Psalm  of  Life.” 

Fortunately  for  the  reading  public,  however,  we  have 
other  standards  by  which  to  judge  of  Toru’s  talent.  After 
her  death  her  father  found  among  her  papers  the  com¬ 
plete  French  romance  of  “Mademoiselle  d’Arvers,”  which 
was  soon  published  under  the  editorial  care  of  Mile. 
Bader,  and  a  sufficient  number  of  English  poems  to  form 
the  little  volume  lately  issued  under  the  title  of  “Ancient 
Songs  and  Ballads  of  Hindustan,”  and  prefaced  by  Mr. 
Gosse  with  a  memoir  of  the  author. 

“  Lc  Journal  de  3Iademoiselle  d' Arvcrs  ”  is  a  novel  of 
modern  French  society,  treating  of  the  love  of  two  broth¬ 
ers  for  the  same  beautiful  and  noble  girl.  It  is  tragic,  the 
unhappy  passion  leading  finally  to  fratricide  and  madness. 
Yet,  in  dealing  with  these  difficult  matters,  Toru  never 
becomes  melodramatic  or  ridiculous,  and  often  displays 
true  power,  though  she  is  not  seldom  unreal  and  fantas¬ 
tic.  Of  more  interest  to  American  readers  is  the  collec¬ 
tion  of  her  English  poems  —  her  chief  claim  to  distinction. 
These,  too,  vary  greatly.  She  had  not  yet  completely 
conquered  the  language  in  which  she  wrote;  we  are  still 
surprised  by  occasional  prosaic  expressions  in  the  midst 
of  poetry,  and  the  strange  legends  which  she  relates  are 
often  rendered  stranger  to  our  ears  by  the  phrases  in 
which  she  relates  them.  But  they  arc  interesting,  strik¬ 
ing,  and  often  beautiful.  Under  the  heading  “  Miscel¬ 
laneous  Poems  ”  there  occur  at  the  end  of  the  volume  a 
few  pages  which  having  once  read  we  should  find  it  very 
hard  to  spare.  Through  them  all  breathes  the  bright  and 
kindly  spirit  that  made  their  young  author  so  dear  to  all 
around  lice. 


TORU  DUTT. 


253 


Geniuses  are  not  always  comfortable  people  to  live  with ; 
but  Toru,  although  during  the  four  years  in  which  she 
accomplished  the  work  of  her  lifetime  she  was  a  frail 
invalid  wasting  to  her  death,  seems  never  to  have  been  to 
those  who  shared  her  daily  life  anything  but  a  blessing, 
from  which  they  found  it  the  greatest  of  sorrows  to  part. 

To  some  readers,  the  most  touching  thing  in  all  her 
sad,  short  history  is  the  brief  paragraph  in  which  her 
father,  now  childless,  describes  his  companionship  with 
her  in  labor.  She  had  a  wonderful  memory,  and  when  a 
dispute  arose  between  them  as  to  the  significance  of  any 
word  or  phrase,  she  was  very  apt  to  be  in  the  right.  Some¬ 
times,  however,  her  father  was  so  sure  of  his  position  that 
he  would  propose  laying  a  wager — usually  a  rupee —  before 
referring  to  the  lexicon  to  settle  the  question.  Toru 
almost  always  won,  but  now  and  then  she  was  mistaken. 

“  It  was  curious  and  very  pleasant  for  me,”  says  her 
father,  “  to  watch  her  when  she  lost.  First  a  bright  smile ; 
then  thin  fingers  patting  my  grizzled  cheek  ;  then  perhaps 
some  quotation  from  Mrs.  Barrett  Browning,  her  favorite 
poetess,  like  this : 

‘Ah,  my  gossip,  you  are  older  and  more  learned,  and  a  man  1  * 

or  some  similar  pleasantry.” 

The  story  of  her  life  can  not  be  better  closed  than  by 
quoting  here  the  beautiful  last  poem  of  her  last  book,  in 
which  her  loving  and  observant  spirit  finds,  perhaps,  its 
highest  expression.  In  it  she  sings  once  more  of  that 
dear  garden  home  where  she  and  Aru  spent  their  child¬ 
hood  together,  and  to  which  both  returned  to  die.  It  is 
called  “  Our  Casuarina  Tree.” 

Like  a  huge  Python,  winding  round  and  round 
The  rugged  trunk,  indented  deep  with  scans, 

Up  to  its  very  summit  near  the  stars, 

A  creeper  climbs,  in  whose  embraces  bound 


254 


TORU  DUTT. 


No  other  tree  could  live,  but  gallantly 
The  giant  wears  the  scarf,  and  flowers  are  hung 
In  crimson  clusters  all  the  boughs  among, 

Whereon  all  day  are  gathered  bird  and  bee; 

And  oft  at  night  the  garden  overflows 

With  one  sweet  song  that  seems  to  have  no  close 

Sung  darkling  from  our  tree  while  men  repose. 

When  first  my  casement  is  wide  open  thrown 
At  dawn,  my  eyes  delighted  on  it  rest ; 

Sometimes,  and  most  in  winter,  on  its  crest 
A  grey  baboon  sits  statue-like  alone 
Watching  the  sunrise ;  while  on  lower  boughs 
His  puny  offspring  leap  about  and  play; 

And  far  and  near  ko-kilas  hail  the  day; 

And  to  their  pastures  wend  our  sleepy  cows; 

And  in  the  shadow,  on  the  broad  tank  cast 
By  that  hoar  tree,  so  beautiful  and  vast., 

The  water-lilies  spring,  like  snow  enmassed. 

But  not  because  of  its  magnificence 
Dear  is  the  Casuarina  to  my  soul : 

Beneath  it  we  have  played ;  though  years  may  roll 
O  sweet  companions,  loved  with  love  intense, 

For  your  sakes,  shall  the  tree  be  ever  dear? 

Blent  with  your  images,  it  shall  arise 
In  memory,  till  the  hot  tears  blind  mine  eyes! 

What  is  that  dirge-like  murmur  that  I  hear 
Like  fhe  sea  breaking  on  a  shingle-beach? 

It  is  the  tree’s  lament,  an  eerie  speech 
That  haply  to  the  unknown  land  may  reach. 

Unknown,  yet  well-known  to  the  eye  of  faith! 

Ah,  I  have  heard  that  wail  far,  far,  away 
In  distant  lands,  by  many  a  sheltered  bay, 

When  slumbered  in  his  cave  the  water-wraith 
And  the  waves  gently  kissed  the  classic  shore 
Of  France  or  Italy,  beneath  the  moon, 

When  earth  lay  tranced  in  a  dreamless  swoon: 

And  every  time  the  music  rose — before 
Mine  inner  vision  rose  a  form  sublime, 

Thy  form,  O  Tree,  as  in  my  happy  prime 
I  saw  thee,  in  my  own  loved  native  clime. 


TORU  DUTT. 


255 


Therefore  I  fain  would  consecrate  a  lay 
Unto  thy  honor,  Tree,  beloved  of  those 
Who  now  in  blessed  sleep  for  aye  repose, 

Dearer  than  life  to  me,  alas !  were  they ! 

Mayst  thou  be  numbered  when  my  days  are  done 
With  deathless  trees,  like  those  in  Borrowdale, 
Under  whose  awful  branches  lingered  pale 

“Fear,  trembling  Hope,  and  Death  the  skeleton, 
And  Time  the  shadow;”  and  though  weak  the  verse 
That  would  thy  beauty  fain,  oh  fain  rehearse, 

May  Love  defend  thee  from  Oblivion’s  curse. 


GEORGE  SARD. 


EORGE  SAND  is  a  name  which  the  English-speak- 


VJT  ing  world  still  pronounces  with  something  less  than 
respect.  She  was  not  of  our  race,  nor  of  our  manners, 
and  her  immediate  ancestors  were  extreme  types  of  every¬ 
thing  in  human  character  most  remote  from  ourselves 
and  our  sense  of  the  right  and  becoming. 

To  begin  with,  she  was  the  great-granddaughter  of  that 
brilliant,  dissolute  Maurice  de  Saxe,  Marshal  of  France, 
who  in  1745  won  for  Louis  XV  and  in  his  presence  the 
battle  of  Fontenoy.  Her  great-grandmother,  a  scarcely 
less  remarkable  personage,  was  Aurora,  the  beautiful 
Countess  von  Koenigsmark.  Her  grandmother,  the  child 
of  this  famous,  disorderly  pair,  a  lady  deeply  imbued 
with  aristocratic  feeling,  was  proud  of  her  illustrious, 
irregular  descent,  and  preserved  in  her  demeanor  the 
formality  of  a  past  period.  In  her  youth  she  experienced 
strange  vicissitudes.  Withdrawn  at  an  early  age  from  a 
convent  in  order  to  marry  Count  de  Horn,  of  whom  she 
knew  nothing,  she  was  left  a  widow  while  fetes  were  in 
progress  in  honor  of  the  nowly  married  couple.  She  lived 
for  some  time  upon  a  modest  pension  allowed  her  by  the 
Dauphiness;  then,  that  Princess  dying,  she  was  left  des¬ 
titute.  It  was  a  fashion  then  in  Europe  for  persons  who 
had  no  other  resource  to  apply  for  aid  to  Voltaire,  and 
to  him  the  young  Countess  appealed.  Madame  Sand 
always  preserved  among  her  treasures  her  grandmother’s 
letter  to  the  chief  of  the  “  philosophers,”  and  his  reply. 


256 


GEORGE  SAND. 


GEORGE  SAND. 


259 


“It  is  to  the  singer  of  Fontenoy  that  the  daughter  of 
Marshal  de  Saxe  addresses  herself  in  order  to  obtain 
bread,”  wrote  the  Countess.  .  .  I  have  thought  that 
he  who  has  immortalized  the  victories  of  the  father  would 
be  interested  in  the  misfortunes  of  the  daughter.  To  him 
it  belongs  to  adopt  the  children  of  heroes,  and  to  be  my 
support,  as  he  is  that  of  the  daughter  of  the  great  Cor¬ 
neille.” 

“  Madame,”  the  aged  poet  replied,  “  I  shall  go  very 
soon  to  rejoin  the  hero  your  father,  and  I  shall  inform 
him  with  indignation  of  the  condition  in  which  his 
daughter  now  is.”  He  then  advised  her  to  appeal  to 
his  particular  friend,  the  Duchess  de  Choiseul,  wife  of  the 
prime  minister,  “whose  soul  is  just,  noble,  and  benefi¬ 
cent.” 

“  Doubtless,”  he  concluded,  “  you  did  me  too  much 
honor  when  you  thought  a  sick  old  man,  persecuted  and 
withdrawn  from  the  world,  could  be  so  happy  as  to  serve 
the  daughter  of  Marshal  de  Saxe.  But  you  have  done 
me  justice  in  not  doubting  the  lively  interest  I  take  in  the 
daughter  of  so  great  a  man.” 

This  letter,  which  she  hastened  to  show  to  the  Duchess 
de  Choiseul,  procured  her  the  relief  of  which  she  stood  in 
need,  and  shortly  afterward  she  married  again.  Her 
second  husband,  M.  Dupin,died  after  ten  years  of  wedded 
life,  leaving  in  his  widow  the  care  of  their  only  child, 
Maurice.  Madame  Dupin,  with  what  the  Revolution  had 
left  to  her  of  her  husband’s  property,  then  purchased  the 
country  estate  of  Nohant,  in  Berri,  since  made  famous 
through  the  genius  of  George  Sand,  and  went  there  to 
live  with  her  son.  He,  when  twenty-six  years  of  age, 
contracted  a  secret  marriage  with  Sophie  Victorie  Dela- 
borde,  a  Swiss  milliner,  the  daughter  of  a  dealer  in  song 
birds. 

Mademoiselle  Delaborde,  four  years  older  than  Maurice 
16  J 


26o 


GEORCE  SAND. 


Dupin,  without  property,  and  a  somewhat  disreputable 
person,  was  not  cordially  welcomed  into  the  family  by 
Madame  Dupin.  It  was  natural  that  she  should  look 
upon  the  marriage  as  a  calamity.  Nevertheless,  she  had 
the  good  sense  to  conceal  her  feelings,  and  to  forgive  an 
error  which  was  plainly  irrevocable,  and,  although  she 
always  heartily  disliked  her  daughter-in-law,  she  was 
obliged  soon  to  acknowledge  that  she  was  a  most  efficient 
and  devoted  wife,  who  kept  her  husband  very  happy. 

July  5,  1804,  the  last  year  of  the  Republic  and  the  first 
of  the  Empire,  a  daughter  was  born  to  this  oddly-assorted 
couple,  who  bestowed  upon  her  the  name  of  Amantine- 
Lucile-Aurore.  The  infancy  of  this  child  was  passed  in 
Paris  with  her  mother,  her  father  residing  with  them 
whenever  his  military  duties  did  not  require  his  presence 
elsewhere.  Captain  Dupin,  however,  as  aide-de-camp  to 
Prince  Murat,  Avas  so  much  away  from  home  that  in  1808 
his  wife,  unable  to  bear  a  longer  separation,  went  to  join 
him  in  Madrid.  Little  Aurore,  four  years  of  age,  accom¬ 
panied  her,  and  was  presented  to  Murat  attired  for  the  occa¬ 
sion  in  .a  miniature  copy  of  her  father’s  uniform,  includ¬ 
ing  spurs,  high  boots,  and  tiny  sword.  The  Prince  was 
pleased  with  the  jest,  and  took  a  fancy  to  his  little  aide- 
de-camp ',  as  he  called  her. 

Captain  Dupin,  shortly  after  his  return  to  France,  was 
killed  by  a  fall  from  his  horse.  This  sad  event  doomed 
his  little  daughter  to  live  for  many  years  in  an  atmos¬ 
phere  of  discord,  the  object  of  continual  contention 
between  her  plebeian  mother  and  her  patrician  grand¬ 
mother,  each  of  whom  claimed  her  duty  and  affection. 
Obedience  she  rendered  to  both  when  their  commands, 
too  frequently  contradictory,  permitted ;  but  her  heart 
was  her  mother’s.  Within  the  walls  of  the  chateau  sho 
passed  unhappy  hours,  for  the  domestic  warfare  was  to 
her  a  constant  source  of  misery;  but,  once  out  of  doors 


GEORGE  SAND. 


26l 


playing  with  her  village  companions,  exploring  every  nook 
and  corner  of  the  lields  and  woods,  and  listening  half 
crcduously  to  the  legends  and  fairy  tales  of  the  neighbor¬ 
hood,  her  vivid  imagination  and  her  admirable  health 
made  her  one  of  the  gayest  and  happiest  of  children. 
After  a  time,  too,  a  separation  was  gradually  effected 
between  her  mother  and  herself,  and  this,  although  griev¬ 
ous  in  itself,  rendered  her  life  more  peaceful.  Madame 
Maurice  Dupin,  who  was  poor,  in  consideration  of  the 
benefits  such  an  arrangement  would  confer  upon  the  child, 
consented  to  leave  her  in  the  care  of  her  grandmother, 
and  herself  removed  permanently  to  Paris.  Aurore 
slowly  learned  to  love  the  old  lady  whose  formal  manners 
long  repelled  and  chilled  her.  For  years  it  was  her 
dearest  hope  to  effect  a  reconciliation,  and  she  resented 
with  more  than  childish  indignation  the  scornful  remarks 
of  the  servants,  who  used  to  taunt  her  with  wishing  to 
go  to  her  mother  and  cat  beans  in  a  garret,  rather  than 
stay  at  the  chateau  and  learn  to  be  a  lady. 

Her  education  was  varied  and  peculiar.  While  on  the 
one  hand  her  grandmother  and  her  grandmother’s  friends 
tried  their  best  to  teach  her  the  elaborate  accomplish¬ 
ments  and  submissive  demeanor  which  they  considered 
desirable  in  a  young  girl,  on  the  other  she  was  dabbling 
in  Latin,  history,  literature,  and  classic  mythology,  play¬ 
ing  practical  jokes  upon  her  tutor,  and  inventing  new 
games  and  dances  for  herself  and  the  village  children. 
Of  religious  instruction  she  had  none.  In  the  course  of 
time  she  invented  for  herself  a  Being  half  hero,  half 
deity,  whom  she  named  Corambd,  a  Greek  god  possessed 
of  the  Christian  vii’tues,  to  whom  she  erected  sliriius  in 
the  woods,  before  which,  as  an  acceptable  sacrifice,  she 
would  lay  flowers  and  set  free  the  birds  and  butterflies 
that  she  had  taken  captive. 

When  she  was  thirteen,  all  this  came  to  an  end.  She 


262 


GEOKCE  SAXD. 


was  sent  to  the  English  convent  of  Augustine  nuns  in 
Paris.  The  pupils  in  this  convent  were  divided  into  two 
bands — the  diables  or  mischievous  girls,  and  the  sages  or 
good  girls.  Aurore  was  promptly  enrolled  among  the 
diables ,  and  so  distinguished  herself  by  pranks  of  many 
kinds,  and  especially  by  her  earnestness  in  an  enterprise 
called  mysteriously  “the  Deliverance  of  the  Victim'’''  (the 
search,  partly  serious  and  partly  frolicsome,  for  an  erring 
nun  supposed  to  be  imprisoned  somewhere  within  the 
building),  that  she  soon  earned  the  appellation  of  Madcap 
from  her  admiring  friends.  But,  in  the  second  year  of 
her  stay,  this  heroic  undertaking  suddenly  lost  its  charm. 
She  was  converted,  became  a  devoted  Catholic,  and 
desired  fervently  to  become  a  nun.  By  her  companions 
she  was  now  renamed,  Saint  Aurore. 

The  sisters  were  teo  wise  to  encourage  her  excessive 
devotion,  and  her  confessor,  disapproving  sudden  asceti¬ 
cism,  ordered  her  as  a  penance  to  continue  the  games  and 
amusements  from  which  she  wished  to  withdraw.  Her 
taste  for  them  quickly  returned,  and  she  became  again  a 
leader  among  her  companions,  although  scrupulously 
avoiding  anything  like  mischief  or  insubordination.  Her 
desire  for  the  cloister  was  not  finally  dispelled  until  a  year 
or  two  later,  when  a  fever  of  reading  came  upon  her,  and 
she  devoured  in  turn  the  pages  of  Aristotle,  Bacon,  Locke, 
Condillac,  Bossuet,  Pascal  Montaigne,  Montesquieu, 
Leibnitz,  and  others. 

“  Reading  Leibnitz,”  she  afterward  remarked,  “  I 
became  a  Protestant  without  knowing  it.” 

A  little  later  she  found  in  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  a 
writer  whose  poetic  treatment  of  religious  subjects 
impressed  her  still  more  strongly.  She  passed  through 
many  phases  of  religious  feeling  in  her  life,  but  she  was 
enabled  to  say  in  later  years : 

“As  to  my  religion,  the  ground  of  it  has  never  varied. 


GEORGE  SAND. 


263 

The  forms  of  the  past  have  vanished  for  me  as  for  my 
century  before  the  light  of  study  and  reflection.  But  the 
eternal  doctrine  of  believers,  of  God  and  His  goodness, 
the  immortal  soul  and  the  hopes  of  another  life,  this  is 
what,  in  myself,  has  been  proof  against  all  examination, 
all  discussion,  and  even  intervals  of  despairing  doubt.” 

Aurore  Dupin  left  the  convent  and  returned  to  Nohant, 
in  1820,  when  she  was  fifteen  years  of  age.  At  the 
chateau  she  now  passed  the  midnight  hours  in  study,  and 
in  considering  the  most  diflicult  problems  of  existence ; 
but  her  days  were  spent  in  a  very  different  manner. 
Within  doors  she  exerted  herself  to  keep  on  peaceable 
terms  with  her  grandmother,  whose  temper  had  not 
improved  with  age,  in  practicing  the  harp,  in  drawing,  in 
studying  philosophy  and  anatomy,  and  in  getting  up  little 
comedies  to  amuse  her  elders ;  out-of-doors,  attired  for 
greater  convenience  in  a  suit  of  boy’s  clothes,  with  blouse 
and  gaiters,  sbe  pursued  botany  or  hunted  quails  witli  her 
eccentric  tutor,  M.  Deschatres.  She  was  a  fearless  rider, 
as  well  as  a  good  shot ;  both  these  last  accomplishments 
being  due  to  the  instruction  of  her  half-brother  Iiippolyte, 
who  had  taught  her  during  a  brief  visit  home,  while  on 
leave  of  absence  from  his  regiment.  Her  daring  feats 
astonished  and  shocked  the  neighbors  ;  but  M.  Deschatres, 
who  cared  for  nothing  but  quails  and  anatomy,  did  not 
trouble  himself  to  restrain  her,  and  old  Madame  Dupin 
w*as  fast  falling  into  her  dotage.  The  young  girl  was  free 
from  restraint. 

A  year  later  the  old  lady  died,  leaving  all  her  property 
to  Aurore.  She  now  returned  to  her  mother  in  Paris, 
hoping  for  a  happiness  which  she  did  not  find.  Time  and 
absence  had  loosened  the  bond  between  them,  and  Madame 
Maurice  Dupin  was  not  blessed  with  an  equable  disposition. 
Aurore  obeyed  her  in  everything  without  question,  but 
this  excess  of  submission  only  exasperated  the  mother, 


264 


GEORGE  SAND. 


and  it  was  a  relief  to  both  when  the  girl  went  to  visit 
some  friends  at  their  country  house  near  Melun.  Here 
she  met  M.  Casimir  Dudevant,  a  young  man  of  twenty- 
seven,  who  was  pleased  with  her  from  the  first.  In  a 
short  time  he  offered  her  his  hand,  and  she  accepted  him. 

She  was  then  a  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen.  Her  hair, 
dark  and  curly,  fell  in  profusion  upon  her  shoulders  ;  her 
features  were  good,  her  complexion  of  a  pale,  clear  olive 
tint,  her  eyes  dark,  soft,  and  full  of  expression.  If  her 
figure  was  somewhat  too  short,  she  possessed  small  and 
beautifully  shaped  hands  and  feet.  Her  manners  were 
simple,  her  voice  gentle  and  low.  With  strangers  and 
acquaintances  she  was  reserved,  and  did  not  shine  in  con¬ 
versation  ;  but  among  friends  she  was  animated,  frank, 
and  charming.  It  is  little  wonder  that  M.  Dudevant  was 
attracted  by  her,  but  it  is  somewhat  surprising  that  he 
was  not  in  love  with  her.  The  marriage  was  admitted  by 
both  to  be  one  founded  upon  friendship  only.  Doubtless 
it  was  by  Aurore  regarded  as  an  escape  from  her  difficult 
relations  with  her  mother.  It  proved  a  sad  mistake. 

The  young  couple,  fatally  ignorant  of  each  other’s 
character,  proved  to  have  few  tastes  in  common ;  their 
dispositions  were  wholly  uncongenial ;  and,  to  make 
matters  worse,  M.  Dudevant  after  a  time  fell  into  habits 
of  dissipation.  For  the  sake  of  her  two  children,  Maurice 
and  Solange,  Madame  Dudevant  made  no  attempt  to 
release  herself,  until  at  the  end  of  eight  years,  she 
found  that  the  situation  had  become  intolerable.  She 
was  totally  indifferent  to  her  husband,  and  he  regarded 
her  with  feelings  of  positive  dislike. 

She  then  made  a  curious  proposition  to  him.  For  some 
time  she  had  been  conscious  of  her  literary  talent,  and 
she  now  proposed  to  her  husband  that  he  should  permit 
her  to  spend  every  alternate  three  months  in  Paris,  there 
to  trv  her  fortune  with  her  pen.  Her  youngest  child,  the 


r.EORGE  SAND. 


265 


little  Solangc,  was  to  join  her  as  soon  as  she  was  com¬ 
fortably  established  ;  her  son,  whom  she  did  not  wish  to 
remove  from  his  excellent  tutor,  if  indeed  his  father 
would  have  let  him  go,  was  to  remain  at  Nohant,  where 
she  would  herself  reside  during  six  months  of  the  year. 

She  was  to  be  allowed  six  hundred  dollars  per  annum 
from  her  own  fortune,  on  condition  that  she  never 
exceeded  that  sum,  and  the  rest  of  her  property  was  to 
remain  in  the  hands  of  M.  Dudevant.  To  this  singular 
compromise  he  at  once  assented,  and  she  set  out  for  tho 
capital  in  1831. 

She  carried  introductions  to  one  or  two  literary  people, 
but  they  gave  her  small  encouragement.  A  novelist  to 
whom  she  first  applied  told  her  that  women  ought  not  to 
write  at  all.  Another  tried  to  cheer  her  with  the  informa¬ 
tion  that  if  she  persevered  she  might  some  day  make  as 
much  as  three  hundred  dollars  a  year  by  writing,  although 
he  condemned  as  valueless  such  specimens  as  she  showed 
him  of  her  fiction.  He  took  her,  however,  upon  the  staff 
of  Figaro ,  of  which  paper  he  was  the  editor,  and  paid  her 
for  her  labor  at  the  rate  of  seven  francs  ($1.35)  a  column. 
Her  talents  were  not  suited  to  journalism ;  but  she  worked 
hard  and  faithfully  for  Figaro.  In  those  days  she  was 
excluded  by  her  sex  from  places  to  which,  in  her  profes¬ 
sion,  it  was  desirable  she  should  have  access.  She  there¬ 
fore  assumed  once  more  the  masculine  disguise  to  which 
she  had  become  accustomed  in  her  girlhood,  and  was 
enabled  to  pass  anywhere  as  a  student  of  sixteen.  After 
she  had  become  famous,  much  odium  was  cast  upon  her 
on  account  of  this  habit  of  hers  by  the  scandal-mongers. 

She  soon  made  friends  among  the  literary  Bohemians 
of  Paris,  and  many  of  her  earlier  and  briefer  works  were 
written  in  collaboration  with  one  of  them,  M.  Jules 
Sandeau,  afterwards  the  author  of  several  successful 
novels  and  plays.  These  joint  performances  included  a 


266 


GEORGE  SAND. 


novelette  entitled  La  Prima  Donna ,  and  a  complete  novel, 
called  Rose  et  Blanche ,  which  was  published  under  M. 
Sandeau's  nom  de-plume  of  Jules  Sand.  It  was  a  book  of 
no  importance,  and  is  now  omitted  from  the  works  of  both 
its  authors,  but  it  attracted  the  notice  of  a  publisher,  who 
requested  another  volume  from  the  same  pen.  A  new 
novel  written  entirely  by  Madame  Dudevant  was  then 
lying  in  her  desk,  and  she  at  once  gave  this  into  his  hands. 
M.  Sandeau,  unwilling  to  claim  any  credit  for  a  work  in 
which  he  had  no  share,  refused  to  permit  her  to  use  their 
usual  pseudonym.  To  oblige  the  publisher,  who  wished  to 
connect  the  work  with  its  predecessor,  it  was  decided  that 
only  the  prefix  should  be  changed,  and  George ,  a,  favorite 
name  among  husbandmen,  was  selected  as  representative 
of  her  native  province  of  Bcrri.  In  April,  1832,  the  book 
appeared.  It  was  entitled,  “  Indiana,  by  George  Sand.” 

Its  success  with  the  public  was  so  immediate  and  so 
great  that  the  author  was  alarmed. 

“  The  success  of  Indiana  has  thrown  me  into  dismay,” 
fho  wrote  to  an  old  friend.  “  Till  now,  I  thought  my 
writing  was  without  consequence  and  would  not  merit  the 
slightest  attention.  Fate  has  decreed  otherwise.  The 
unmerited  admiration  of  which  I  have  become  the  object 
must  be  justified.” 

Many,  even  of  those  who  praised  her  most,  predicted 
that  she  would  never  equal  this  first  venture ;  but  Valen¬ 
tine,  which  appeared  a  few  months  later,  convinced  them 
of  their  error.  Both  these  books  are  stories  of  unhappy 
marriage.  Indiana  is  a  romantic,  high-spirited  girl, 
bound  for  life  to  a  dull,  imperious,  but  not  bad-hearted 
man  much  older  than  herself.  The  other  chief  characters 
are  a  graceful,  heartless  scoundrel  who  makes  love  to 
her,  and  a  cousin,  a  sort  of  guardian  angel,  who,  after 
long  loving  her  in  silence,  at  last  succeeds  in  rescuing 
her  from  her  miserable  situation.  Valentine,  like  Indiana, 


GEORGE  SAND. 


267 


Is  the  victim  of  a  manage  de  convenance.  The  highly- 
wrought  scenes  of  passion,  and  the  exaggerated  language 
of  many  passages  which  now  repel  the  reader,  were  then 
admired.  In  the  simple  portions  we  can  already  recog¬ 
nize  that  simple,  forcible,  and  picturesque  style  which  so 
delights  us  in  her  tales  of  humble  life — in  La  Petite- 
Padette,  and  La  Mare  au  Liable. 

The  next  work  of  Madame  Sand — for  her  friends  as 
well  as  the  public  now  learned  to  call  her  by  that  name 
— was  that  Lelia,  of  which  almost  every  one  lias  heard, 
although  it  has  now,  at  least  in  England  and  America,  few 
readers.  Lelia  is  a  novel  of  impossible  characters  and 
incidents,  written  in  a  declamatory  manner.  Its  only 
interest  is  as  a  psychological  study  of  the  author,  for  into 
this  work  she  was  wont  to  say  she  had  put  more  of  her¬ 
self  than  into  any  other.  She  nevertheless  pronounced  it 
in  later  years  absurd  as  a  work  of  art.  Lelia  surprised 
her  friends  at  the  time — although  it  pleased  most  of  them 
— and  was  highly  successful  with  the  public.  One  of  her 
friends,  a  naturalist,  wrote  to  her : 

“  Lelia  is  a  fancy  type.  It  is  not  like  you — you  who 
are  merry,  who  dance  the  bourree ,  who  appreciate  lepidop- 
tera,  who  do  not  despise  puns,  who  are  not  a  bad  needle¬ 
woman,  and  make  very  good  preserves.  Is  it  possible 
that  you  should  have  thought  so  much,  felt  so  much,  with¬ 
out  any  one  having  any  idea  of  it  ?  ” 

It  was  a  book  written  in  a  period  of  mental  depression, 
at  a  time  when  her  faith  appeared  to  be  forsaking  her. 
Although  it  is  by  no  means  typical  of  her  ordinary  fiction, 
it  was  destined  to  produce  an  impression  of  her  as  a 
writer  opposed  to  marriage  and  morality,  and  to  create  a 
prejudice  which  in  England  and  our  country  has  but 
recently  begun  to  give  way.  Some  critics  had  already 
accused  her  of  propounding  revolutionary  doctrines  in 
Indiana  and  Valentine.  It  is  true  she  declared  herself 


263 


GEORGE  SAND. 


against  commercial  marriages,  and  taught  that  every 
union  should  bo  based  upon  love  ;  but  this,  at  least  in  our 
fortunate  land  and  century,  docs  not  strike  us  as  either 
shocking  or  novel. 

From  this  time  the  life  of  George  Sand  was  that  of  an 
indefatigable  literary  worker,  and  no  year  passed 
unmarked  by  the  issue  of  new  works  under  her  name. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  these  labors,  her  iron  constitution 
permitted  her  to  take  long  journeys,  to  enjoy  society,  and 
often  to  abandon  herself  to  the  delights  of  her  country 
home.  She  wrote  chiefly  at  night :  in  the  day  time  she 
walked,  climbed,  and  rode  horseback  as  freely  and  fre¬ 
quently  as  in  her  girlhood,  and  her  letters  to  her  friends 
dwell  continually  upon  these  simple,  exhilarating  pleas¬ 
ures.  She  .had,  during  her  whole  life,  three  unfailing 
sources  of  delight — her  children,  nature,  and  music. 

The  strange  compromise  which  she  had  made  with  her 
husband  was  evidently  one  which  could  not  continue.  In 
1835  she  applied  for  a  divorce,  which,  after  some  diffi¬ 
culties  with  regard  to  the  children,  was  granted  her. 
While  it  was  still  doubtful  whether  their  guardianship 
should  be  entrusted  to  her  or  to  their  father,  she  seriously 
considered  the  idea,  in  case  of  a  decision  adverse  to  her 
claim,  of  leaving  France  and  escaping  with  them  to 
America.  The  judgment  of  the  court  finally  placed  her  in 
possession  both  of  them  and  of  the  estate  of  Noliant. 
To  Maurice  and  Solange  she  was  ever  a  devoted  mother. 
She  attended  personally  to  their  education  and  shared 
their  amusements.  Their  affection  and  their  happiness 
fully  rewarded  her ;  and,  as  both  on  attaining  maturity 
made  fortunate  marriages,  she  was  enabled  to  show  herself 
as  an  excellent  grandmother  also. 

Of  Nohant  and  the  neighboring  region  she  never  tired. 
“  Never  a  cockchafer  passes  but  I  run  after  it,”  she  says, 
describing  her  country  walks ;  and  she  confesses  how,  on 


GEORGE  SAND. 


269 


one  occasion,  the  sight  of  the  cooling  stream  of  the  Indre 
proved  an  irresistible  temptation  to  her,  and  she  walked 
into  the  water  fully  dressed — proceeding  afterwards 
untroubled  upon  her  twelve-mile  walk,  while  her  clothes 
dried  upon  her  in  the  sun.  Nor  did  her  interest  in  the 
villagers  ever  flag,  and  the  little  peasant  children  who 
had  been  her  playmates  in  youth  found  her  a  friend  in 
their  old  age. 

Her  life  from  middle  age  onward  was  often  saddened 
by  the  troubles  of  her  country.  In  her  political  feelings 
she  was  republican,  and  she  was  accused  of  being  a 
socialist.  Many  of  her  dear  friends  were  ardent  politi¬ 
cians,  and  when,  after  the  flight  of  Louis  Philippe  in  1848, 
a  provisional  government  was  formed  with  Lamartine  at 
its  head,  she  was  irresistibly  drawn  to  take  a  part  in  the 
struggle. 

“My  heart  is  full  and  my  head  on  fire,”  she  wrote  to  a 
fellow-laborer.  “  All  my  physical  ailments,  all  my  per¬ 
sonal  sorrows  are  forgotten.  1  live,  I  am  strong,  active; 
I  am  not  more  than  twenty  years  old.” 

She  worked  hard  to  strengthen  and  uphold  the  new 
government.  She  wrote  many  fiery  articles,  and  more 
than  one  ministerial  manifesto  was  attributed,  with  good 
reason,  to  tier  pen.  She  never  relaxed  in  her  efforts 
until  leader  after  leader  proved  unfitted  for  bis  position, 
and  to  pei’sist  was  manifestly  useless.  Returning  from 
Paris,  where  she  had  been  staying  that  she  might  be 
upon  the  field  of  action,  to  rest  quietly  in  her  country 
home,  she  found  herself  regarded  with  horror  by  the  peas¬ 
ants,  who  called  her  a  communist. 

“  A  pack  of  idiots,”  she  wrote  indignantly  to  a  friend, 
“who  threaten  to  come  and  set  fire  to  Nohant!  .  . 

When  they  come  this  way  and  I  walk  through  the  midst 
of  them  they  take  off  their  hats  ;  but  when  they  have 
gone  by,  they  summon  courage  to  shout,  ‘  Down  with  the 
communists !  ’  ” 


2/0 


GEORGE  SAND. 


After  the  overthrow  of  the  Provisional  Government, 
6he  had  no  desire  to  enter  politics  again.  Her  theory  of 
government  remained  unshaken,  but  she  had  little  hope 
of  seeing  it  successfully  realized  in  France  during  her  life¬ 
time.  She  mingled  no  more  in  public  affairs  except  so 
far  as  after  the  coup  d'etat  to  ask  of  Louis  Napoleon, 
with  whom  she  had  at  one  time  corresponded,  a  pardon 
for  some  of  her  old  friends  who  had  been  condemned 
to  transportation.  Her  petition  was  granted  at  once. 

Born  in  the  last  year  of  the  First  Empire,  George  Sand 
lived  through  the  Franco-Prussian  War,  and  saw  the 
return  of  peace  and  prosperity.  She  was  always  sure 
that  the  good  time  would  come,  although  during  the  dark 
days  of  that  long  struggle  she  was  in  deep  sorrow  for  her 
unhappy  country,  and  painfully  anxious  for  the  safety  of 
her  own  home.  At  one  time  the  Prussians  approached 
near,  and  she  wrote  to  a  friend  that  she  worked  “  expect¬ 
ing  her  scrawls  to  light  the  pipes  of  the  Prussians.” 
But,  in  another  letter,  written  to  M.  Flaubert,  she  says 
cheerily : 

“  Mustn’t  be  ill,  mustn’t  be  cross,  my  old  troubadour ! 
Say  that  France  is  mad,  humanity  stupid,  and  that  we 
are  unfinished  animals  every  one  of  us  ;  you  must  love  on 
all  the  same,  yourself,  your  race,  above  all,  your  friends. 
I  have  my  sad  hours.  I  look  at  my  blossoms,  those  two 
little  girls,  smiling  as  ever,  their  charming  mother,  and 
my  good,  hard-working  son,  whom  the  end  of  the  world 
will  find  hunting,  cataloguing,  doing  his  daily  task,  and 
yet  as  merry  as  Punch  in  his  rare  leisure  moments.” 

Again,  less  lightly,  but  quite  as  hopefully,  she  wrote : 

“  I  do  not  say  that  humanity  is  on  the  road  to  the 
heights ;  I  believe  it  in  spite  of  all,  but  I  do  not  argue 
about  it,  which  is  useless,  for  every  one  judges  according 
to  his  own  eyesight,  and  the  general  outlook  at  the 
present  moment  is  ugly  and  poor.  Besides,  I  do  not  need 


GEORGE  SAND. 


27; 


to  be  assured  of  the  salvation  of  our  planet  and  its  inhabi¬ 
tants,  in  order  to  believe  in  the  necessity  of  the  good  and 
the  beautiful ;  if  our  planet  departs  from  this  law  it  will 
perish  ;  if  its  inhabitants  discard  it  they  will  be  destroyed. 
As  for  me  I  wish  to  hold  firm  till  my  last  breath,  not 
with  the  certainty  or  the  claim  to  find  a ‘good  place’ 
elsewhere,  but  because  my  sole  pleasure  is  to  maintain 
myself  and  mine  in  the  upward  way.” 

George  Sand  died  at  Nohant  in  1876,  nearly  seventy- 
two  years  of  age,  having  neglected  an  illness  which  sho 
deemed  unimportant  until  it  was  too  late. 

“  It  is  death,”  she  said  to  those  about  her ;  “  I  did  not 
ask  for  it,  but  neither  do  I  regret  it.” 

For  a  week  she  lingered  in  great  suffering,  but  con¬ 
scious  and  courageous  to  the  last.  Her  thoughts  turned 
to  the  quiet  village  cemetery  where  she  was  soon  to  rest, 
and  almost  her  last  words  referred  to  the  trees  growing 
there.  She  desired  that  none  of  them  should  be  disturbed, 
or  so  her  children  interpreted  the  words : 

“  Ne  touchez  pas  a  la  verdure.” 

At  her  funeral,  which  took  place  in  a  pouring  rain,  the 
country  people,  who  had  long  ago  ceased  to  call  her 
communist,  flocked  in  from  miles  around.  There,  too, 
were  men  of  letters,  scientists,  and  artists,  for  she  had 
made  friends  and  kept  them  in  all  ranks  of  life.  Her 
bier  was  borne  by  six  peasants,  preceded  by  three  chor¬ 
ister  boys  and  the  ancient  clerk  of  the  parish,  and  she 
was  buried  close  by  the  graves  of  her  father,  her  grand¬ 
mother,  and  two  little  grandchildren  whom  she  had  lost. 
A  plain  granite  monument  now  marks  her  resting  place. 

The  works  of  George  Sand,  including  novels,  stories, 
and  plays,  are  so  numerous  that  only  a  vei'y  few  of  them 
can  find  mention  here.  Among  the  most  famous  are  the 


272 


GEORGE  SAND. 


“  Letters  of  a  Traveler,”  the  unfortunate  “  She  and  lie  * 
(Idle  et  Lui),  “  Lucrezia  Floriani,”  “Consuelo,”  and  the 
three  delightful  tales  of  peasant  life,  entitled  respectively, 
“La  Petite  Fadette” — upon  which  the  familiar  play  of 
Fanclion  the  Cricket,  is  founded — “The  Devil’s  Pond” 
(La  Mare  du  Diable),  and  “  Francois  le  Champi,”  from 
which  she  afterwards  made  a  play. 

The  “  Letters  of  a  Traveler”  are  a  very  striking  series 
Written  after  a  journey  through  Switzerland  and  Italy,  in 
company  with  the  poet  Alfred  de  Musset,  her  further  rela¬ 
tions  with  whom  are  depicted  in  the  story  “  She  and  He,” 
published  after  his  death.  This  work  was  regarded  by 
the  public  as  ungenerous,  if  not  unjustifiable;  but  it  must 
be  remembered  that  after  the  breach  between  them,  De 
Musset  had  not  spared  her  in  his  verse.  Her  book  was 
intended  as  a  defence  of  herself;  but  it  had  the  force  of  a 
judgment  upon  him.  It  was  soon  replied  to  by  the  pcet’s 
brother  in  another  tale,  entitled  “  He  and  She,”  in  which 
Madame  Sand  was  represented  in  a  light  even  more 
unfavorable  than  that  in  which  she  had  placed  the  hero 
of  her  story.  It  is  probable  that  each  version  of  the 
affair  contained  truth.  Doubtless  de  Musset  and  Madame 
Sand  were  both  in  fault,  for  two  such  pronounced  per¬ 
sonalities  could  not  long  have  accommodated  themselves 
to  each  other.  Their  difficulties,  however,  should  never 
have  been  submitted  to  the  public. 

In  “  Lucrezia  Floriani  ”  she  was  believed  to  have  com¬ 
mitted  a  similar  error,  since  the  unpleasing  character  of 
Karol  was  by  many  supposed  to  represent  her  old  friend 
and  companion,  Chopin  the  composer.  She  denied  that 
such  was  the  case,  and  it  is  evident  that  she  did  not 
intend  a  portrait,  although  there  were  points  of  resem¬ 
blance.  Through  the  interference  of  unwise  acquaint¬ 
ances,  however,  the  book  caused  a  breach  between  Chopin 
and  herself.  In  many  of  her  other  works  too  curious 


GEORGE  SAND. 


273 


critics  have  claimed  to  discover  pictures  of  eminent  per¬ 
sons  with  whom  she  was  acquainted :  some  have  even 
believed  that  in  the  ideal  heroine  “  Consuelo”  they  could 
perceive  a  representation  of  the  famous  Madame  Viar- 
dot. 

“  Consuelo,”  although  one  of  the  most  diffuse,  is  by 
many  considered  the  best  among  George  Sand’s  novels. 
There  is  power  in  it ;  but  its  incidents  seem  to  us  extrava¬ 
gant  and  its  personages  unreal.  At  present  we  care  less 
for  ideal  characters  and  improbable  adventures,  and  more 
for  delineations  of  men  and  women,  with  their  weak¬ 
nesses  and  their  strength,  such  as  may  be  found  among 
ourselves.  Those  of  George  Sand’s  works  which  will 
longest  be  read  are  narratives  like  “  Andrd,”  “  La  Mar¬ 
quise,”  and  the  pleasant  tales  to  which  we  have  referred. 
In  them  her  heroes  and  heroines  are  studied  from  the 
life,  and  the  scenery  amid  which  they  are  placed  is  such 
as  she  had  herself  visited  in  her  travels,  or — and  this  far 
oftener — that  which  lay  close  around  her  own  home,  in 
her  fair  and  fertile  native  province. 


